chapter 6

After those final words, Jasmine stood, offered a quiet apology to Marcus and his wife, then walked out of the private room.

She didn't spare a glance at the stunned faces or the gasps trailing behind her.

Most of the guests had already lowered their heads, whispering to the people beside them.

Some muttered that Ethan had really nailed the 'perfect boyfriend' act. Others cursed Winona for being shameless.

A few tsked that Jasmine had gone too far—how would she and Ethan end things now?

Amid the murmurs, only Quinton smiled faintly, eyes still fixed on the doorway long after she'd gone.

This was the Jasmine he remembered—unyielding, righteous, incapable of tolerating even a speck of filth in her eyes.

As the crowd soaked in the spectacle, Ethan finally snapped out of it.

He stormed past the table and marched straight to Winona, trembling in her seat.

With a sudden kick, he knocked her and the chair to the floor, striking a few guests nearby. Screams erupted as people scrambled away.

Ethan crouched, gripping Winona's neck, his bloodshot eyes locked on her as she turned purple from the pressure.

Winona clawed at his arm, gasping, "Ethan ... Ethan ... "

Before she could finish, Ethan slapped her across the face.

"You're the one who called Jasmine. You told her, didn't you?!" His voice was raw, nearly hoarse with fury.

Blood trickled from Winona's lip. She shut her eyes, despair settling in as she thought.

Is this how I'm going to die?

Just then, Marcus finally spoke, his voice cold and even, as if he'd seen this kind of drama one too many times.

"Ethan, enough. It's a day for celebration—give me some face. Don't make this even uglier."

His wife echoed gently, "Yes, Mr. Gardner, perhaps you should go after Ms. Arkwell instead. She ran out alone. She must be heartbroken."

Whatever it was—Marcus's words or his wife's—something made Ethan pause. He slowly loosened his grip and flung Winona aside like a lifeless rag doll.

"You think you could ever replace Jasmine?" he spat.

That sentence reached Winona's ears just as Ethan turned and stormed out of the room.

What came next was a wave of harsh whispers and sharp accusations from the guests.

"A struggling person is still better than someone at the bottom. Look at her—she actually thought she could take Jasmine's place. What a joke."

"Exactly. Presence? Poise? She's not even in the same league."

"Just a fling, and she went pulling all these petty tricks. She deserved that slap."

Each word peeled away the last of Winona's dignity—fragments of pride and flesh she'd stitched together into a semblance of status.

Leaning against the wall, she rose slowly, her next words deliberate and sharp. "You're right. I have no shame—I wanted to climb. But tell me, who here is any cleaner? Any more noble? Including you, Ethan—did I force any of you?"

She limped out of the room. Marcus glanced at the mess on the floor, then at his wife's icy expression, irritation bubbling inside him.

"Alright, that's enough. Everybody go home."

By the time Ethan reached the gates of Cloudshade Estate, he spotted his black Maybach at once.

Relieved, he straightened his clothes, smiled, and climbed into the car.

Jasmine stared out the window, not even turning her head as she spoke quietly to the driver. "Let's go."

There was something off in her voice—he heard it immediately. He leaned closer, only to see her face streaked with tears.

For a moment, Ethan couldn't breathe. He fumbled to wipe away her tears.

"Babe, I was wrong. Hit me if you want! Please, stop crying—when you cry, it tears me apart."

Panic surged through him. In all their years, Jasmine had never cried like this—not even when the Arkwells fell into ruin.

"It's all that Winona's fault—she took advantage of me when I was drunk."

"Enough, Ethan. I don't want to hear it." Her voice cut him off cleanly before he could finish.

She finally turned to face him, eyes locking with his.

The deep, luminous gaze that once brimmed with love—today, it overflowed with sorrow.

"Ethan, let's end this peacefully."