Goodbye, My Love

Chapter 11---You Hired Someone?

Just after three in the afternoon, the online narrative shifted again with a statement from Elena Peterson on her personal social media account.

Elena's statement was nearly a thousand words but boiled down to two points: first, she and Mr. Cook were only close friends, and during Mr. Cook's marriage to Madeline Cook, she had done nothing to disrupt their relationship; second, today was her art exhibition, and she couldn't understand why Madeline, who was already divorced from Mr. Cook, would show up at her event.

Anyone with sense could see the statement was insincere. Though it appeared to be an objective clarification, it was manipulative. The second point subtly mocked Madeline, implying she couldn't let go even after the divorce—so insecure that she felt the need to show up with someone to flaunt herself at her ex-husband's friend's exhibition.

Wendy Taylor, seasoned in the entertainment industry, read the statement and felt physically ill. Without hesitation, she unleashed the explosive evidence Madeline had given her.

Within half an hour, public opinion had completely swung.

When Hudson learned of this from his assistant, he was utterly shaken. He immediately compiled all the details and rushed to knock on Mr. Cook's office door.

Mr. Cook didn't even look up from his desk. "What is it?"

"Mr. Cook, there are some rumors online about you and Ms. Peterson. Should we issue a clarification?"

"What rumors?"

The man frowned, clearly annoyed.

Hudson wasn't sure whether to call them rumors or facts, and he certainly didn't have the guts to tell Mr. Cook that intimate photos of him and Elena in a hotel room had been posted online.

Instead, he simply placed the tablet in front of Mr. Cook. "This morning, Ms. Peterson's art exhibition was live-streamed. When Ms. Jenkins arrived, the online discourse started turning negative…"

Mr. Cook had no interest in online gossip, but one set of photos on the tablet immediately caught his eye. In them, he was stepping out of the bathroom in a bathrobe, captured by Elena's phone as she took a selfie. Though there was no physical contact, the images were undeniably suggestive.

That day, he had been on a business trip out of town and ran into Elena at a dinner. She had drunk heavily. Out of respect for the Peterson family, he asked Hudson to escort her back to her room. But as she stepped out the door, she vomited—right on him. His face darkened instantly. He ordered Hudson to haul her away and went back to clean up.

After showering, he came out to find Elena standing in his room, wearing a bathrobe. She said she had come to apologize. He barely let her speak before impatiently dismissing her.

"Where did these photos come from?"

Mr. Cook swiped through the tablet, reading the comments. His face turned as cold as a winter's day in December.

Hudson felt an inexplicable chill. "We haven't traced the source yet."

"Why are so many online outlets suddenly pushing stories about me?"

This wasn't just "pushing" anymore—it was outright attacking him.

Hudson wiped a thin layer of sweat from his forehead. "We've found that these online outlets all received paid posts from Nimbus Entertainment."

"Slam!"

Mr. Cook suddenly flipped the tablet facedown on the desk, his dark eyes terrifyingly cold. "Get me the contact for Nimbus's management. Tell them to take down the posts—immediately!"

"Y-yes, sir, I'll call them right away!"

Hudson scrambled out to find the contact. He didn't know what Mr. Cook had seen, but the look on his face was so ferocious it felt like he might devour someone. Just thinking about it made Hudson shudder.

Inside the office, Mr. Cook stood in icy silence. Then, as if remembering something, he reached for his phone and dialed an internal line to Hudson. "Never mind—don't contact Nimbus's management."

The moment the words left his mouth, he clicked the call off, stood up, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he hadn't called in three years—his ex-wife's.

Madeline knew Mr. Cook's number by heart. Even without a contact name, she recognized it instantly.

Her phone rang cheerfully on the desk, but she simply stared at it, making no move to answer.

Wendy, sensing something was off, glanced at Madeline. Seeing her calmly eating grapes, she cautiously asked, "Is that Mr. Cook calling?"

Madeline spat out a grape skin. "Mm-hmm."

"Aren't you going to answer?"

That man… didn't seem like someone you'd want to mess with.

Madeline gave her a cool glance. "Now you're scared?"

Wendy would never admit it. "Don't be ridiculous! I just thought, since he's calling you, might as well take the chance to yell at him!"

No sooner had she spoken than Madeline suddenly pressed answer and handed the phone to her. "Here. Yell."

Wendy: "…Don't do this, Maddie."

Madeline smiled faintly, then finally brought the phone to her ear. "Something you need, Mr. Cook?"

Mr. Cook, who had gotten no response just moments before, now heard her voice—so casual, so light—and suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

"Did you post the photos?"

Madeline didn't deny it. "Sort of."

"Did you have me followed?"

Listen to that—was that even a human thing to say?

Madeline let out a cold laugh. "You really think too highly of yourself, Mr. Cook."

With that, she hung up.

Wendy, watching, instinctively clapped. "Badass!"

Madeline wanted to laugh, but couldn't quite manage it. "Alright, go back to Ellis now. Don't do this kind of thing again. It's pointless."

Hurt the enemy a thousand, lose eight hundred yourself.

Wendy, seeing her expression, felt a pang of guilt. "What did Mr. Cook say?"

"He accused me of having him followed."

"What nerve!"

Madeline was silent for a long moment. "Maybe it's a nerve I gave him."

Back when she was young and naive, she'd laid her heart at his feet for him to trample. Now that they were divorced, he still thought she was as easy to push around as before. In the end, it was because she had given him that power once.

Wendy sighed. "Don't cry, don't cry. Come here and cry on my big chest."

Madeline burst into laughter despite herself. "Get out of here. Unless I'm wrong, Mr. Cook's secretary is probably already on their way to Nimbus."

Wendy was about to say something when her phone rang. She checked the caller ID—Serena Halberg—and answered. "Serena, what's up?"

"Mr. Cook's secretary is here demanding to see you. Get back to the company right away, or we're going to court."

"…I'll be right there!"

Wendy looked at Madeline. "Your mouth must be cursed, Maddie! Your ex-husband's lackey is already at the company. I've got to go handle this."

Madeline waved her off. Then, thinking again, she grew concerned about Wendy's lack of street smarts. "If Hudson tries to scare you, just tell him the photos came from Elena."

Wendy didn't understand, but nodded anyway. "Got it. I'll deal with Mr. Cook's lackey. Just don't go moping around alone!"

Madeline didn't even glance her way. Wendy left, feeling awkward.