Chapter 2

2.

The heavy mahogany doors of the VIP room swung open.

A thick mix of bourbon and cigar smoke hit us immediately.

A group of trust fund kids in designer shirts watched Carter, sitting in the center, downing glass after glass. No one dared to breathe too loudly.

One of them finally couldn't take it anymore and tried to intervene.

"Carter, stop drinking. It's just one woman. I'll introduce you to someone better. We can pick anyone from the backstage of Fashion Week."

Carter didn't even look up, just hurled the expensive crystal decanter at him.

"Get lost."

"No one can replace Harper."

The others looked at each other, only breathing a sigh of relief when they saw Julian walk in, as if he were their savior.

"Julian, you have to talk to him."

"Carter always listens to your advice."

"If he keeps drinking like this, he'll not only get alcohol poisoning, he'll miss the board meeting tomorrow."

Julian frowned, walked straight over, and sat on the velvet sofa across from Carter, snatching the glass from his hand.

"Is this all you've got?"

Carter looked up angrily, but when his bloodshot eyes saw it was Julian, he just lowered his head in defeat, silent.

After a long moment, his voice cracked.

"Julian, you don't get it. I really love her."

"Without Harper, even the air in Manhattan feels suffocating."

Julian leaned back on the sofa, his long fingers tapping the armrest, and let out a cold laugh at his friend's pathetic state.

"Love? Don't be so naive."

"She was just a trophy girlfriend. Let her go."

"Since she wants to break up, why are you begging like a simp?"

"That's a sunk cost. Don't let sunk costs cloud your judgment."

"You think making a mess of yourself is going to make her come back? Carter, don't embarrass your family."

Carter hung his head and didn't say another word, seemingly convinced by the cold Wall Street logic.

I sat in the shadows of a corner, watching the sharp profile of Julian's face in the dim light.

Yes, this man only ever showed a bit of heat in bed. The rest of the time, he was always this calculating, cold-blooded, rational machine.

It was precisely this facade and his prowess in the capital markets that attracted Victoria, the shipping magnate's daughter.

I thought about the article in the New York Times society pages a few days ago, about his and Victoria's upcoming engagement, complete with paparazzi photos.

I let out a breath of relief.

If he could talk about relationships so casually, then our own ending shouldn't be too much trouble. Just like he said, cut your losses.