Three Years Forgotten, Why Go Crazy When I Say Goodbye? novel Chapter 598

Despite Susannah's desperate pleas, Julian's expression remained as impenetrable as a glacier. He didn't soften in the slightest.

He was a man driven by cold, hard calculations. Vivienne hadn't just messed with a relationship; she had struck at the very core of the Sinclair Group's interests.

The massive academic fraud, the global backlash, the corporate fallout, and the crashing stock price were all due to her selfish greed. For Julian, business always came before romance. Vivienne was now a massive liability. Cutting her loose was the only logical choice.

As for Toby, the public still believed Willow was his mother anyway. Vivienne's ultimate fate wouldn't really affect the boy's public image. As long as Julian could win Willow back, everything could be fixed.

In fact, given Willow's surging reputation, getting her back would be a huge win for the Sinclair Group. It would instantly repair their image and bring in massive partnerships.

In a twisted way, discarding Vivienne was the best business move he could make.

Susannah kept trying to convince him, but Julian's patience ran out.

He looked at his mother, his dark eyes void of any warmth. His words were razor-sharp and absolute. "The decision is final. There is no room for discussion. The lawyers will handle her tomorrow morning."

"Julian!" Susannah protested, but he was already walking away. Left with no choice, she could only sigh in defeat.

Inside the hospital room, Vivienne stood just behind the door, her nails digging into her palms until she bled.

She had heard every single word. Each syllable felt like a knife plunging into her chest.

She had clung to the desperate hope that Toby—the sweet, obedient son she had given him—would make Julian soften his stance. She hoped he would show at least a fraction of mercy.

The more Vivienne thought about it, the more terrified she became. She couldn't just sit there and wait for the axe to fall!

She had to secure an escape route.

That night, under the cover of darkness, she sneaked out of the hospital.

The wind was biting cold. Clutching her thin hospital gown, Vivienne stood under a flickering streetlamp and dialed a number she had sworn to never call again.

The phone rang endlessly, each beep plucking at her frayed nerves.

After seven rings, the call connected. A lazy, arrogant male voice came through, dripping with amusement. "Well, if it isn't the Sinclair princess. What a rare honor. To what do I owe the pleasure after all these years?"