I took two steps forward, my gaze sliding past him and fixing directly on Selena.

“Selena,” I said evenly, “three days ago, you swore before me that you’d cut ties with this man and begged for my forgiveness. You cried then, too.”

I tilted my head slightly. “Tell me, are your tears more sincere now? Or do they just look better in front of an audience?”

Her face blanched, her eyes darting nervously.

Then, as if finding courage, she clutched Lucas tighter and screamed, “Ethan! That’s enough!”

“You forced me back then! I was scared you’d hurt Lucas!”

“Now I finally understand—running away won’t solve anything. You’ll never let him go!”

“You just can’t stand that he and I truly love each other!”

“True love?” I echoed with a cold smile. “So your version of ‘true love’ is to parade your lover in a wheelchair, begging for sympathy?”

“Is this what you call protecting him?”

I gave a short, humorless laugh. “Seems your love comes pretty cheap.”

“You—!” Selena trembled with fury.

Lucas caught her hand and murmured gently, trying to calm her before looking up at me again.

“Mr. Cole,” he said, his voice soft but trembling, “I know you despise me.”

“I ruined your marriage with Selena. I’m sorry. If you want revenge, I’ll take it.”

“You can insult me, hurt me—whatever you wish. But please, don’t twist Selena’s feelings. She truly cared for you once.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You keep saying I forced her into marriage. That I’m cruel, ruthless…”

I paused. My gaze sharpened, voice dropping to a chilling calm.

“Since I’ve already been painted as the villain, wouldn’t it be a waste not to live up to everyone’s expectations?”

I took another step forward, closing the distance between us.

Lucas stiffened, instinctively trying to retreat—but the wheelchair held him in place. Selena rushed to block me, her voice trembling. “W-What are you going to do?”

“In front of everyone, do you dare hurt Lucas?”

“Relax,” I said lightly. “I won’t touch him—not yet.”

My eyes drifted to his cast leg. I smiled faintly. “A broken leg, huh? Make sure you take good care of it.”

I let my tone turn sharp, deliberate. “You’ll need it for the long road ahead.”

“Or maybe,” I added softly, “you won’t—depending on where you’re headed.”

Their expressions froze—hers pale with fear, her rigid with confusion. I ignored them both, as well as the whispers rippling through the crowd, and walked out of the hall without looking back.

The night air outside was cool, the murmurs inside fading as I reached my car.

Just as I started the engine, my phone buzzed. Selena’s father.

“Ethan,” his voice came, low and weary. “Selena… her mother and I spoiled her. She’s always been willful.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that tonight. On her behalf, I apologize.”

He hesitated, expecting a courteous reply.

I stayed silent.

He cleared his throat, his tone shifting—gentle at first, then probing.

“But Ethan, no matter how angry you were…”

“You shouldn’t have had someone break Lucas’s leg.”

“That was too much. If word spreads, it won’t look good for the Cole family, will it?”

A short, cold laugh escaped me. “Uncle Hart,” I cut him off, “which eye of yours saw me order that?”

There was a pause on the line—then his voice rose, laced with righteous certainty.

“Who else could it have been but you?”

“Come on, Ethan. Everyone knows. Lucas and Selena had just grown close when it happened.”

He scoffed. “No one’s stupid.”

I laughed—a sound stripped of warmth. “Alright then. Since Richard has decided I’m guilty, I’ll accept the blame.”

“Not just that one leg—I’ve already reserved Lucas’s other leg too.”

“Make sure he gets used to the wheelchair early.”

“You—!” Richard Hart’s polite facade finally cracked, his voice rising with anger. “Ethan! Must you really make things this ugly?”

“We’ve been family friends for years, and you’d destroy it all for an outsider?”

“Yes.”

My answer was crisp and firm.

“Uncle Hart,” I said coldly, “since your family has chosen your side, I’ll respect your choice.”

“From now on, all pretenses are gone.”

Two years ago, during a Cole family banquet, Richard had personally invited my father and me for a private toast. After a few flattering remarks, he brought up a long-forgotten verbal promise—an engagement arranged between my late grandfather and Mr. Hart.

At the time, the Hart family was in decline, and the matter had been quietly set aside.

That night, Richard spoke with careful humility, emphasizing the old bond between our families.

“Mr. Cole, I know it’s bold of me to bring this up now,” he said, his tone deferential.

“But the old man’s greatest wish before he passed was to see Selena’s happiness secured.”

He sighed heavily, stealing glances at my father’s face.

My father, who valued his word and my grandfather’s legacy, was moved.

“Richard, you’re being too modest. Since this was the old man’s wish, it’s only right that we, the younger generation, fulfill it.”

When I later met Selena, I agreed to the engagement.

From that moment, the Cole family began fully supporting the Hart family.

The struggling Hart Group was pulled from the brink brink—receiving huge contracts, easy access to financing, and connections that opened every closed door.

In just two years, the company soared like a rocket, eventually going public and securing its place among the city’s elite.

Richard, once a small-time businessman eager to please everyone, became the confident chairman of a listed company.

As for Selena, I treated her as any fiancé should.

She adored jewelry, especially the work of a particular European designer. So, for her birthday, I reached out to that designer directly, commissioning a custom diamond necklace and earrings—a six-month project, one of a kind.

That night, she was the center of attention among her friends, basking in admiration.

For two years, at business dinners or private events, I gave her the respect and attention she wanted.

Once, a young heir from another wealthy family made a crude remark about her. I didn’t hesitate—I slammed him to the ground in front of everyone.

From that day on, the entire circle knew Selena was mine. No one dared show her the slightest disrespect.

I used my name, my influence, and my patience to lift the Hart family up—and used my sincerity to please her.

Yet this was the return I received: betrayal, perfectly rehearsed lies, and public humiliation.

When I returned home, I called my father. Calmly, I recounted everything that had unfolded that night—including Richard’s shameless accusations.

He was silent for a long moment before speaking, his voice steady.

“The Cole family doesn’t bend.”

“If the Hart family has made their choice, then so be it. Do what needs to be done.”

“I’ll handle the rest.”

His words cleared away the end of my hesitation.

That night, I gave my orders.

Effective immediately—every partnership, contract, and deal between the Cole Group, its subsidiaries, and the Hart Group was to be terminated without exception.

Notify all partners that maintaining close ties with the Hart Group will be regarded as an unfriendly act toward the Cole Group.

The orders went out late that night, and the vast machinery of the Cole empire began to move—efficiently, precisely, and without mercy. By morning, the Cole Group released a formal statement announcing the immediate and total termination of all cooperation with the Hart Group.

The effect was explosive. The news hit the market like a thunderclap, sending ripples across the financial world. By the time trading opened, Hart Group’s stock price plunged so fast that trading was halted within thirty minutes.

I sat in my office, silently watching the cascading green lines of their stock chart.

Before long, my phone vibrated. Selena’s name flashed on the screen.

The moment I answered, her hysterical voice erupted through the line—her tone eerily reminiscent of her “tragic performance” from the night before.

“Ethan! Are you insane? Do you know what you’re doing?!”

“Retract that statement right now—or I’ll make you pay!”

I didn’t answer. I simply ended the call and added her number to my blacklist.

A threat? She still hadn’t realized who held the power now.

But the Hart family’s retaliation came faster—and dirtier—than I anticipated. By noon, the online atmosphere had completely turned out.

A storm of slander flooded major social media sites and forums. Dozens of posts appeared almost simultaneously, each echoing the same narrative—a well-coordinated smear campaign.

The attacks focused on three fabricated themes.

First, I was labeled a tyrant and workplace bully.

An “anonymous former employee” claimed I ruled the Cole Group with arrogance, verbally abusing staff and driving a loyal veteran employee into depression until he resigned.

The post included a grainy photo of me entering the office, my expression conveniently grim.

Second, I was accused of moral corruption and a chaotic private life.

A so-called “insider” alleged that despite my engagement to Selena, I had maintained several mistresses in secret.

They even listed the names of young university women and described supposed encounters in lurid, imaginative detail—written as though they had witnessed them firsthand.

Third, they accused me of ruthless cruelty.

Posts claimed that out of jealousy, I had ordered Lucas’s legs broken to force Selena into submission.

The narrative was packaged as a story of twisted love—a man destroying what he couldn’t possess.

These lies were directly linked to the previous night’s spectacle at the Autumn Festival Banquet dinner. Combined with selective “eyewitness accounts,” the posts were deliberately designed to ignite outrage.

Within hours, armies of paid trolls flooded the comments, flooding every thread with uniform messages.

Phrases like “The stench of capital,” “Punish the abuser,” and “Support Ms. Selena and Mr. Lucas’s true love” trended across platforms.

The Hart family’s PR team had done its work well. They reframed a corporate fallout as a love-and-hate tragedy—casting the Cole Group as a heartless giant crushing two helpless lovers beneath its wealth and influence.

Then came the final act.

Selena and Lucas launched a live broadcast on one of the biggest streaming platforms.

On camera, her eyes were swollen from crying, her makeup faintly smudged for dramatic effect. She leaned against Lucas’s shoulder, the picture of fragile devotion. He, sitting in his wheelchair, appeared pained yet dignified.

Together, they recited their well-rehearsed lines—accusing me and my family of cruelty, of tearing apart a love “too pure for the world.”

Lucas’s performance was masterful. His voice trembled just enough, his expression balanced perfectly between grief and nobility.

“I don’t blame Young Master Ethan,” he told the camera solemnly. “I only blame myself—my lowly status, my unworthiness for Selena—that brought us to this tragedy…”