Part 2His Heart Gone, System’s Die Command Comes

When Peter finally found me, I was in the middle of teasing a new male model, dangling a cherry just above his lips.

His eyelashes were long, his cheeks smooth and flushed. My playful words had turned the tips of his ears a bright crimson. He looked like an innocent puppy.

During my years with Peter, I had to play the part of his preferred "sweet, innocent flower," living a life as austere as a nun's.

Only now was I discovering how exhilarating it was to finally let loose.

“Get out.”

Peter’s voice, cold as ice, sliced through the air, heavy with the authority of a man used to being obeyed.

The model flinched, scrambling out of the VIP booth like a startled animal.

Now, it was just the two of us.

Peter loosened his tie, his gaze raking over me, the fury in his eyes barely contained.

“Sienna, what the hell is this?”

I popped the cherry into my mouth, slowly and deliberately spitting the pit onto a napkin.

“We broke up, Mr. Monks.”

I looked at him, feigning confusion. “‘Break up.’ Are those two words really so hard to understand? Or has your vocabulary deteriorated to the point where you need to go back to elementary school?”

His face darkened to the color of thunderclouds.

But he reined in his temper, letting out a heavy sigh as he sat down across from me. His tone, when he finally spoke, was almost gentle.

“Are you still angry that I went back to the university with Willow?”

I almost laughed.

See? That was him. Always so certain that I couldn't live without him, that every move I made was a calculated play for his attention. It seemed he hadn't forgotten my ultimatum—that if he went with her, we were through.

He continued, explaining as if to a child, “Willow is just a naive kid. She was bullied a lot back in school and was scared of being singled out at the reunion. I was just looking out for her.”

“Mhm, I understand,” I nodded, my agreement completely sincere.

Of course, I understood.

Just like I’d understood all the other times.

When Willow’s laptop broke, he, the CEO, went to her apartment to fix it himself.

When Willow worked late, he canceled our dinner plans to drive her home personally.

When Willow was in a bad mood, he even ditched our anniversary date to stand in line for hours to buy her a limited-edition cake from some trendy bakery.

All because she was “naive,” “vulnerable,” and “like a small animal that needed protecting.”

My brain isn't broken. How could I not understand?

I rested my chin on my hand, blinked innocently, and asked a question that caught him completely off guard.

“And what role were you playing while you were helping her, exactly?”

The gentle expression on Peter’s face froze solid.

I scoffed internally.

Keep pretending.

He played the part of the caring boss while acting like a boyfriend, savoring the thrill of the ambiguity and expecting me to be grateful for his "impartiality."

He probably expected me to cry, to scream, to demand answers, only to be shut down with his usual, “Don’t be unreasonable.”

But honestly, I didn’t have the energy to play these games with him anymore.

As I was figuring out the quickest way to get rid of him, Peter rubbed his temples, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Sienna, stop it. It was my fault, okay?”

“Tell me what you want as an apology. A bag? A car?”

He thought a limited-edition handbag would smooth things over, just like it always had.

I was about to tell him to get lost.

But the words caught in my throat, and an idea bloomed.

I looked at his handsome face, etched with impatience and condescension, and a slow smile spread across my lips.

“Alright.”

Peter was visibly taken aback, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily.

Meeting his surprised gaze, I spoke, my voice clear and steady.

“I want ten percent of Monks Corp.”