After He Betrayed Me, I Took His Company

Chapter 4

The celebration dinner for the company's Series A funding round was held at the most luxurious hotel in the city.

Paul's mother, Audrey, who had always been polite yet distant toward me, was exceptionally warm that day.

But that warmth was not meant for me.

She took Claire's hand and said, "Claire, come here quickly. Stand next to Paul."

Claire looked a little embarrassed and glanced at me. "Mrs. Gonzalez, isn't this inappropriate? Camila is right here," she said.

Audrey replied with a cheerful smile, "Oh, you've helped our Paul so much; you're a great contributor to our family. What's wrong with sitting here?"

Then she turned to me. "Camila, you've been on your feet all day too. Why don't you grab the table next to ours and help me keep an eye on the relatives?"

One sentence, and just like that I'd gone from the "wife-to-be" to hired help for the relatives.

I stood off at the edge of it all, a glass of cheap champagne in my hand, watching them under the lights. Paul's dad, Audrey, Paul, Claire. The four of them lined up like some perfect family photo. And me, I was the one cropped out of the frame.

Something in my chest pulled tight, aching and raw.

Paul's mother seemed to sense my emotions and called out across the crowd, "Camila, give us a smile, will you? Don't spoil everyone's good mood."

She treated my unhappiness as a drag on the mood.

I looked at Paul, hoping he would say something.

But he furrowed his brow and mouthed to me, "Consider the bigger picture."

Those four words again. He was using my expected family obligations and the occasion as leverage to make me back down once more.

During the dinner, one of the business partners had too much to drink and, holding up his wine glass, insisted that Claire drink with him.

Paul noticed immediately and stepped in front of Claire, drinking three glasses of hard liquor on her behalf. He said, "Simon, Claire is allergic to alcohol. I'll drink for her."

He remembered that Claire was allergic to alcohol. He remembered every little quirk of hers.

But he had forgotten that my stomach was weak, and I couldn't stomach anything too greasy at all. The dishes on the table were extravagantly luxurious—lobster and caviar, every dish swimming in oil.

It was a stomach ailment I had developed three years ago, when I ate plain pasta for three straight months to save him money for servers.

I remembered how anxious he had been then, keeping vigil by my hospital bed all night, then personally making soothing chicken broth for me for six months, warning me not to eat heavy food.

Later, he gave that same broth to Claire. He said she was on a diet, that broth was healthy.

These memories sent waves of pain through my stomach. The pain grew increasingly severe. I finally couldn't endure it, covered my mouth, and rushed toward the restroom.

All eyes were on me.

Paul walked over quickly. Without even looking at how sick I looked, he grabbed my arm. He demanded, "What's going on? Can you stay or not?"

I looked at him, too much in pain to speak. "My stomach hurts," I managed.

Only then did he notice my pale face. His brows furrowed even tighter. "How careless of you," he said.

There was no concern in his tone, only blame.

He added, "Ms. Stephens of Ridge Capital Partners will be here soon. What kind of behavior is this?"

At that moment, whatever was left in my heart just died. His kindness, it was always for other people. His memory only worked when he wanted it to.

I shook my head and slowly pushed his hand away. "I'm not staying," I said.

With that, I turned and walked toward the banquet hall entrance, not looking at him again.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from Philip.

Philip: Ms. Stephens, per your instructions, the audit of all funds disbursed from your personal account during Mr. Gonzalez's startup period is complete. The total is 13.2 million dollars. The letter of demand is prepared and can be sent at any time.

Fine.

I walked to the cloakroom at the entrance, removed the cheap silver necklace I had worn for three years, the one he had given me, and placed it gently on the tray. It was a ninety‑nine‑dollar birthday gift he had bought for me during the early days of his startup. Now, I was returning it to him.

The investor representative—the newly appointed Chairman of Ridge Capital Partners—arrived as all eyes watched. Paul and all the senior executives waited respectfully at the entrance.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out in expensive high heels and a haute couture gown, surrounded by bodyguards and lawyers.

Paul's smile instantly froze. He stammered, "Camila... Camila?"

The executives behind him stared in shock. How could that "girlfriend of Mr. Gonzalez," the one in cheap T‑shirts who used to deliver their takeout, be the legendary, mysterious heir to the Stephens family?

I didn't look at him and walked straight to the main table.

Audrey was also stunned. She opened her mouth to say something, but a look from Philip beside me silenced her.

Philip said firmly, "Audrey, please watch your words. This is Ms. Stephens of Ridge Capital Partners."

I took my seat gracefully. Claire was forced to stand up from the seat of honor, her face cycling between pale and flushed.

I looked up at Paul. My voice wasn't loud, yet it carried across the entire banquet hall. "Mr. Gonzalez, start your pitch," I said.