Chapter 10

The phone screen lit up with a new message from Vivian Lancaster.

I stared at the words, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unable to reply.

"Just kidding. The report was fake," she sent, followed by: "But really, you didn’t care at all? Seeing that I was pregnant didn’t stir anything in you?"

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Only when she pointed it out did I realize how unusual my reaction was. In the past, just seeing her get close to another guy would send me into a rage—heart pounding so hard I could hear my own pulse.

But now, my reflection in the mirror was calm. The smartwatch on my wrist showed a steady heart rate, not a single fluctuation.

"Since you have a new boyfriend, you shouldn’t say things that cross the line," I finally replied. "Wouldn’t want misunderstandings."

The "typing…" indicator appeared at the top of the chat and lingered for a full three minutes.

"Ryan Gallagher, stop pretending," she finally answered. "You’re still keeping tabs on me—even remembering to like my posts. If that’s not love, what is?"

I raised an eyebrow. She never used to notice these things.

It seemed Ethan Winslow had changed her. Nine years couldn’t, but another man did.

"Actually, nothing happened between me and Ethan," she sent another message. "He did all this to help us get back together."

"For his sake, I’ll give you one last chance."

I chuckled and dialed her number directly. "No need."

After hanging up, I exhaled deeply. She probably still expected me to come crawling back like before. But this time was different.

I knew better than anyone—her sudden desperation wasn’t about love. It was about saving face. Flirting was one thing, but actually dumping me for someone else? That would damage her image.

That evening, the project signing went surprisingly smoothly. My business partner, thrilled, introduced me to several industry heavyweights.

"This is my partner, Ryan Gallagher," he introduced me.

The executives greeted me warmly. The respect felt unfamiliar. Back when I accompanied Vivian to events, she always treated me like an assistant—until others did too.

But I didn’t blame her. The fault wasn’t just hers. It was also mine, for allowing it.

After a few rounds of drinks, the conversation was lively. Then, one of the executives lowered his voice.

"Ryan, did you piss someone off? I just found out you’ve been blacklisted in the industry."