One Fake Headshot, Our Final Farewell

Chapter 2 You're Fired

As Lorna left, she sobbed. "No wonder Ms. Flood said nobody wants you—Ms. Flood is better than you."

Watching the two kids walk away, Robert stood there, at a loss for words.

I let out a slow breath and looked at Robert—he stood there like a kid caught doing something wrong, completely lost.

"I don't want to do this anymore, Robert," I said.

Robert's face went cold. His expression dripped with sarcasm. "Monica, stop with the drama. It's getting old. Cut it out."

An image flashed through my mind—the scandal of Robert partying on an island with a young model, all over the news. My fingers clenched instinctively.

Back then, I'd insisted on divorce. He flew into a rage.

So he locked me in the villa and banned me from seeing our two kids, who were still nursing.

That was the moment my love for him died—locked away in that sealed room.

Even now, he still didn't believe me. He thought I was using divorce as an excuse to beg him to come back, like I used to.

All the strength drained from my body. My voice was thick with disappointment. "Robert, after I'm discharged, I'll leave the Harding family on my own. From now on, you're free to marry whoever you want."

Realizing I wasn't joking, Robert's expression turned grim. "Divorce? No way. You're an orphan. Leave the Harding family—where would you even go?"

He dropped that threat and stormed out of the hospital room.

I picked up the new phone by my pillow and input the number I knew by heart.

Monica: Book me a ticket for a week from now.

After leaving the hospital, I went back to the villa and packed a few things.

Then I headed straight to the design studio I'd built from scratch.

Since I planned to cut ties with Robert, I was going to take everything that was mine.

But the moment I walked through the studio's doors, people started giving me strange looks.

A familiar employee pulled me aside, her face flushed with anxiety. "Monica, what did you do to Mrs. Harding? She says you stole her ideas, and she's making a fuss to get you fired."

'Mrs. Harding?'

I looked toward the director's office. There, in my chair, Loretta sat with her legs crossed, bossing around the new intern.

She actually dared to call herself Mrs. Harding. How ridiculous.

When our eyes met, the sneer on Loretta's lips said it all.

She dialed the internal line and called me in, carrying herself with haughty pride.

"Monica, sorry about this," she said, drawing out the words. "You're fired."

I didn't care how she tried to worm her way into my family.

But this studio—it was the first project I'd designed and built myself, without the Harding Group's support.

It was my life's work. I wasn't about to let it go.

I swallowed my rage and shot back, my voice hard. "Loretta, did that diploma mill of yours even teach you how to draw a blueprint? Go ahead—tell everyone you slept your way into that director's chair."

She slammed her hands on the desk and stood up, her voice shrill and grating. "Get the hell out! You don't get to decide anything here."

Coworkers peeked over, but no one dared step in.

I gave a cold smile and looked around the familiar space.