Fiancée's Betrayal, I'll Crash Her Empire By Dawn - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
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Cyril's POV
Shirley's eyes burned into me as I unlocked my phone, her expression flickering between suspicion and fury. She opened her mouth—probably to spit some accusation—but before I could react, she yanked the phone from my hands again, scrolling like a woman possessed, desperate to dig up dirt on me.
Then she froze. Her face twisted when she landed on a selfie of me and my sister. "Unbelievable!" she hissed, shoving the screen in my face. "You're really gonna stand there and lie to me? The proof is right here!"
"For the last time, she's my sister! Give it back!" I lunged for the phone, but she jerked away, and my temper flared. "This is theft. And slander. And a massive invasion of privacy!"
Her response? A sharp crack as her palm slammed into my cheek, the sting radiating down to my jaw. Before I could even process it, she hurled my phone to the floor—shatter. The screen splintered into a spiderweb of glass.
I grabbed my throbbing face, ready to retaliate, but security slammed into me, wrenching my arms behind my back.
Shirley's laugh was pure venom. "Oh, please. Don't act like some wounded saint, Cyril. We all know how you really got ahead—whoring yourself out to every woman with connections. Spare me the sob story."
Disbelief choked me. "You're really gonna humiliate me like this?"
She rolled her eyes. "Humiliate you? Don't kid yourself."
The words cut deeper than the slap. I gritted my teeth. "Fine. If you won't listen, we'll let the police sort it out."
"The police?" She barked a laugh. "You think you have leverage? I actually care about my reputation—unlike you." She leaned in, her whisper like a knife. "Thank God we never married. You'd have been the biggest mistake of my life."
My gaze dropped to the wrecked phone. Rage simmered under my skin. "Keep treating me like this, Shirley, and your precious IPO won't survive tomorrow."
The room exploded with laughter.
"Jesus, Cyril," Digby wheezed, clutching his stomach. "Did you hit your head? What fantasy world are you living in?"
Shirley smirked. "Oh, right—suddenly you're some D.C. trust-fund baby? Pathetic."
I straightened, locking eyes with her. "Actually, yeah. I am. And that 'mystery woman'? My sister. Tiffany Martin."
Cue more hysterics.
"Holy shit," Simon gasped, slapping the table. "If you're a Martin, then I'm Orson Martin himself!"
"Yeah!" someone crowed. "And if he's legit, I'll eat my damn shoes!"
I smirked. "Orson Martin's my father—not some clown like you. But hey, with the garbage spewing from your mouths, I wouldn't be shocked if you already had shit for breakfast."
The room went silent—then erupted.
"Oh, please," someone sneered. "We all know you slept your way up."
The laughter was a physical blow. Shirley shook her head, lip curled in disgust. "Just leave, Cyril. And don't ever pretend we were anything."
My nails dug into my palms. The fury was white-hot, but I swallowed it. Not yet.
"Fine. But remember this moment. Every bit of humiliation?" I met her eyes. "You'll pay for it. Double."
Predictably, they lost it again.
"Double?" Digby howled, arm slung around Shirley. "What is this, a bad soap opera? Newsflash, Cyril—you're not the hero."
Shirley waved me off like a stray dog. "Ugh, enough. Go. You're ruining the party."
One last look at her. Then I turned and walked out, their jeers chasing me into the hall.
Outside, I bought a new phone and dialed.
"Before Shirley's IPO goes live tomorrow," I said, voice ice-cold, "I want her wiped out."
A pause. Then: "Understood, sir."
I hung up and stared at the sky, smirking. Think you won, Shirley? Sweetheart—the game's just starting. You showed no mercy. Don't expect any now.
Shirley's eyes burned into me as I unlocked my phone, her expression flickering between suspicion and fury. She opened her mouth—probably to spit some accusation—but before I could react, she yanked the phone from my hands again, scrolling like a woman possessed, desperate to dig up dirt on me.
Then she froze. Her face twisted when she landed on a selfie of me and my sister. "Unbelievable!" she hissed, shoving the screen in my face. "You're really gonna stand there and lie to me? The proof is right here!"
"For the last time, she's my sister! Give it back!" I lunged for the phone, but she jerked away, and my temper flared. "This is theft. And slander. And a massive invasion of privacy!"
Her response? A sharp crack as her palm slammed into my cheek, the sting radiating down to my jaw. Before I could even process it, she hurled my phone to the floor—shatter. The screen splintered into a spiderweb of glass.
I grabbed my throbbing face, ready to retaliate, but security slammed into me, wrenching my arms behind my back.
Shirley's laugh was pure venom. "Oh, please. Don't act like some wounded saint, Cyril. We all know how you really got ahead—whoring yourself out to every woman with connections. Spare me the sob story."
Disbelief choked me. "You're really gonna humiliate me like this?"
She rolled her eyes. "Humiliate you? Don't kid yourself."
The words cut deeper than the slap. I gritted my teeth. "Fine. If you won't listen, we'll let the police sort it out."
"The police?" She barked a laugh. "You think you have leverage? I actually care about my reputation—unlike you." She leaned in, her whisper like a knife. "Thank God we never married. You'd have been the biggest mistake of my life."
My gaze dropped to the wrecked phone. Rage simmered under my skin. "Keep treating me like this, Shirley, and your precious IPO won't survive tomorrow."
The room exploded with laughter.
"Jesus, Cyril," Digby wheezed, clutching his stomach. "Did you hit your head? What fantasy world are you living in?"
Shirley smirked. "Oh, right—suddenly you're some D.C. trust-fund baby? Pathetic."
I straightened, locking eyes with her. "Actually, yeah. I am. And that 'mystery woman'? My sister. Tiffany Martin."
Cue more hysterics.
"Holy shit," Simon gasped, slapping the table. "If you're a Martin, then I'm Orson Martin himself!"
"Yeah!" someone crowed. "And if he's legit, I'll eat my damn shoes!"
I smirked. "Orson Martin's my father—not some clown like you. But hey, with the garbage spewing from your mouths, I wouldn't be shocked if you already had shit for breakfast."
The room went silent—then erupted.
"Oh, please," someone sneered. "We all know you slept your way up."
The laughter was a physical blow. Shirley shook her head, lip curled in disgust. "Just leave, Cyril. And don't ever pretend we were anything."
My nails dug into my palms. The fury was white-hot, but I swallowed it. Not yet.
"Fine. But remember this moment. Every bit of humiliation?" I met her eyes. "You'll pay for it. Double."
Predictably, they lost it again.
"Double?" Digby howled, arm slung around Shirley. "What is this, a bad soap opera? Newsflash, Cyril—you're not the hero."
Shirley waved me off like a stray dog. "Ugh, enough. Go. You're ruining the party."
One last look at her. Then I turned and walked out, their jeers chasing me into the hall.
Outside, I bought a new phone and dialed.
"Before Shirley's IPO goes live tomorrow," I said, voice ice-cold, "I want her wiped out."
A pause. Then: "Understood, sir."
I hung up and stared at the sky, smirking. Think you won, Shirley? Sweetheart—the game's just starting. You showed no mercy. Don't expect any now.
End of Fiancée's Betrayal, I'll Crash Her Empire By Dawn Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to Fiancée's Betrayal, I'll Crash Her Empire By Dawn book page.