Chapter 667 Julian, You're Ruthless!
Cressida could not find Kevin.
It was as if he had never existed. Even the address printed on his business card led to an empty lot. No one had ever heard of him.
Even she, in her naivety, understood now — she had been played.
From the start, Kevin had sought her out. He had used his looks to earn her trust, dangled profits to lure her in. And she, like a fool, had believed him. She had slept with him more times than she could count, staked her entire fortune on him, even dreamed of spending her life with him.
What a pathetic joke she had been.
As the year drew to a close, the bank began calling in her debts. She tried to negotiate, but her name and connections meant nothing now. The new bank president was incorruptible — no bribes, no vices, no leverage. Desperate, she thought of Julian.
Julian's headquarters were overseas, and in Evergreen City he had no fixed office. She could not find him. Instead, she tried to corner Kellan and Kennedy, to force them to help her pay off the debt. She was their daughter-in-law, after all. She had given birth to Luna — surely that counted for something.
And if not, she could always sell Luna to them, take the money, and walk away.
The thought made her stomach turn, but desperation has a way of erasing boundaries.
She never got close to Julian. Anxiety gnawed at her. She smoked constantly. Her once-luminous skin turned sallow, the heaviest makeup unable to hide her exhaustion.
Two weeks later, the bank seized her house. It would be auctioned off.
Cressida was homeless.
Her bank account could not even cover a decent hotel. In the end, she checked into a budget motel at eighty dollars a night and paid for two weeks in advance.
In the cramped room, she sat by the window, cigarette in hand, telling herself this was only temporary. She would think of something. She would claw her way back to the life she knew.
But fate had other plans. That afternoon, a group of debt collectors came knocking. They shoved a document in her face: she had co-signed a twenty-million-dollar loan for a man named Kevin, used to buy a luxury estate overseas. Kevin was gone. The debt was hers.
"Twenty million? Why don't you just rob a bank?" she spat.
But the paper was real. She scanned it from top to bottom, her hands trembling. Seconds later, it slipped from her fingers.
She collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her face. The truth was unbearable. Most of her past wealth had come from Efrain. Her own work — writing, screenplays — had never earned much.
Twenty million on top of the fifteen million she already owed after losing her house — thirty-five million dollars in debt. Even if she worked until her last breath, she could never repay it.
The men knew exactly who she was. They told her plainly: if she could not pay, she could sell herself. Her pride flared — she would never bow to them. And besides, thirty-five million was more than a lifetime of degradation could cover.
She begged for more time.
They gave her one day.
If she did not pay by tomorrow, she would pay in other ways. She knew what they meant — her body for time and interest. Wiping her tears, she gave them a cold smile. "I'll find a way."
They left, but not before leaving her with something she would never forget. The memory made her gag. She wanted to report them, but they laughed in her face. "Owe money, pay it back. Can't pay? Get used to being treated like a whore."
She hurled a pillow at them, screaming for them to get out, clutching the neckline of her dress with white-knuckled fists.
They were gone.
But she knew they would return. Unlike the bank, they had no patience, no civility. Even without crossing the final line, they had touched her, and she could not scrub the filth away. She washed her hands and neck with soap over and over, still feeling unclean.
She sank to the bathroom floor in tears.
She thought about killing herself, but the thought of pain made her hesitate. She thought about Kevin — maybe he hadn't meant to hurt her. She called his phone a dozen times. Still off.
"Kevin, you bastard. All men are the same."
Drunk, she burned the copy of the loan agreement. Through her tears, she whispered into the empty room, "I was wrong about you. You deserve hell."
She covered her face and sobbed until her shoulders shook.
Then she thought of Julian again.
She put on her best clothes, spent what little she had left on a cab to his estate. The guards and servants stopped her at the gate. Julian would not see her. The Learmond family no longer acknowledged her existence.
The blow nearly broke her. She clung to the wrought-iron gate, shouting Julian's name, begging for a chance to live, saying she had made mistakes, that she was sorry.
"Julian, I brought your brother's last letter. He asked you to take care of me, to take care of Luna. If he knew you were letting me die like this, he would blame you. Please, Julian, just read what he left you."
She pulled a crumpled sheet from her coat, her hands shaking.
It was Efrain's letter. In it, he asked that Julian not blame her, and that he take care of her and the child.
She read it again and again, pleading for him to believe she had changed.
"She will never change," Julian said from the balcony, a servant at his side.
His face was carved from stone. Only his perfect brother Efrain had ever believed a woman like Cressida could truly repent.
If the wicked could truly change, evil itself would vanish from the world.
Julian looked up. Snowflakes drifted from the gray sky.
Below, servants bustled. Luna's laughter rang from the garden, Taylor's gentle voice answering her. This was what happiness looked like.
"Send her away," Julian said quietly.
The servant hesitated, then nodded.
When Cressida heard, she stood frozen for a long time. Then she, too, looked up at the falling snow. "Julian, your heart is made of ice."
She had nowhere left to go.
Thirty-five million in debt. No hope. She had lived in silk and glass — she would not live in rags.
At five o'clock that evening, Cressida stepped onto the tracks.
Blood spread from her chest, soaking her fine clothes, staining the life she had clung to, and the letter from Efrain. The white paper turned red.
A tall figure appeared beside her. She was still alive, her eyes wide with fear.
Her body shook violently.
Julian knelt, long fingers plucking the letter from her grasp. He studied her as she fought for her last breaths.
The rasp of a lighter broke the silence. Flame bloomed.
The letter burned, Efrain's words vanishing from the world as surely as Cressida's life.
Ash drifted down, snow settling on it.
Cressida stared at Julian.
In her final moment, she seemed to realize something. But she no longer had the strength to whisper, "Julian, you are merciless."
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