Olivia Hayes leaned into her plea, her voice trembling with a practiced fragility, but Ethan Spencer’s expression remained as cold as a morgue slab.

"Trying the sentimental route again?"

Ethan’s laugh was brittle, devoid of warmth. "Olivia, that act doesn't work on me anymore."

His voice cut through the air, icy and absolute. "I didn't come back to Portsmouth to listen to your half-hearted confessions."

He stepped closer, his eyes unblinking. "Your little empire in South City is breathing its last. I'm going to make sure you understand exactly what it feels like to fail, over and over again."

He took a step back and slammed the door in her face. He didn't blink.

Ethan kept his word. Within three months, the landscape of South City had been turned upside down. The Spencer family, leveraging their massive commercial network and bottomless influence, severed the Hayes Group’s key international supply chains for high-end ingredients. They shifted their support to The Gilded Table Group, offering terms so lucrative that competitors were left in the dust.

With Ethan personally steering the ship, The Gilded Table launched a new high-end culinary series, directly targeting the Hayes Group’s most profitable niches. He dismantled their prestige piece by piece, ensuring Olivia had a front-row seat to the destruction.

When Damon Meyer tried to use back-alley muscle to sabotage Ethan, he only handed the Spencer family a golden ticket to crush the Meyer family openly.

Albert Meyer initially tried to play the mediator, but within weeks, his major project bids began falling like dominoes. Facing catastrophic losses, the patriarch finally saw the reality of the situation. He took a leather whip to his own son, carving the consequences of the family’s failure directly into Damon’s back, hoping the brutality would buy Ethan’s mercy.

Damon couldn't swallow the loss. He blew a fortune on a half-baked plot to kidnap Ethan. He thought he finally had the upper hand, but he had underestimated his prey. Ethan’s men descended on them like a storm. When they were finished, Damon was left a broken husk of a man, dumped on the front steps of the Meyer estate like discarded trash.

The Meyer family, lacking the spine or the strength to retaliate, retreated into the shadows to lick their wounds, gasping for breath.

Another month passed. The international terminal at the airport was a blur of grey, much like Olivia’s mood. After two weeks of desperate, grueling negotiations abroad, she had hit nothing but dead ends.

Her expensive makeup couldn't hide the hollow exhaustion in her eyes. She exited the VIP lounge, rubbing a throbbing temple, and let her gaze drift over the waiting crowd. Then, her eyes snapped to a standstill.

There, standing near the bustling arrivals gate, was a tall, imposing figure. Ethan Spencer. He wore a sharp black overcoat, standing perfectly still, his eyes fixed firmly on the exit.

Olivia’s heart skipped a beat, a violent, hitching thud. The exhaustion and the failure that had dogged her for weeks vanished, replaced by a surge of impossible, electric hope.

He... was he waiting for her?

A thousand desperate thoughts flooded her brain, making her breath hitch in her chest. She stared at his sharp, angular features, watching as his arms shifted, opening slightly in a familiar gesture of welcome.

He was waiting for her. Just like he used to, a lifetime ago.

The cold, dead ashes of her heart sparked, foolishly, dangerously. She quickened her pace, her heels clicking rapidly against the polished floor, eager to vanish into the embrace she had ached for through a thousand sleepless nights.

Then, a vibrant, glowing figure darted past her.

Grace Ellis surged forward, throwing her arms around Ethan’s waist and burying her face in his chest. Ethan caught her instantly, his face breaking into a look of such profound tenderness that it looked like a different man entirely. He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss onto the top of her head.

The two of them locked fingers, turning to leave with a security detail trailing closely behind.

Olivia froze in the middle of the crowded concourse. Her blood turned to ice in her veins. She let out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh, but the tears were already streaming down her face, unchecked and burning.

Some bridges don't just burn; they dissolve. She had destroyed the only man who had ever worshipped her, and now, she was left with nothing but her own wreckage, standing alone in the cold.