Chapter 660 Midnight Streets, Bitter Tears
The door to the CEO's office slammed open.
Zenobia froze in the doorway. For a split second, her mind went blank. Samuel was leaning across his desk, openly flirting with a young, stunning woman who was half sprawled over the polished surface. Anyone with half a brain could see exactly what was going on.
She had once walked down the aisle with Samuel. She still held enough dirt on him to make him sweat—and in her mind, that meant she was still his wife.
Without a second thought, she stormed in, grabbed Cressida by the hair, and yanked her off the desk. Two sharp slaps cracked across Cressida's flawless face.
"You filthy whore!"
Cressida staggered back in shock. Before she could recover, Zenobia shoved her against the wall, slamming her head hard. "Don't you have a husband of your own? Seducing another woman's man in broad daylight? I'll make sure you regret it."
This time, Cressida fought back. In seconds, the two glamorous women were locked in a vicious, no-holds-barred brawl right in the middle of Samuel's office.
Quentin, standing nearby, tried to break them apart but quickly realized he was no match for two furious women. In the end, he stepped back, glancing toward his boss.
Samuel leaned back in his leather chair, lit a cigarette, and watched the chaos unfold like a man enjoying a private show. The only thing missing was a grainy black-and-white film reel rolling in the background.
Quentin knew him too well—this was deliberate. He folded his arms and waited to see who would come out on top.
It was Zenobia.
By the time she was done, Cressida's hair was a mess, a few strands ripped out, her makeup smeared, and her once-perfect face swollen.
Zenobia hadn't escaped unscathed—blood trickled from the corner of her mouth—but she carried herself with the smug authority of Mrs. Collins as she kicked Cressida out.
When the door shut, Zenobia turned on Samuel. "That woman? Really? You'd actually touch her?"
Samuel's voice was cool. "Why not? She's gorgeous, a successful screenwriter, better looking and in better shape than you. Taking her in would be perfectly reasonable. And while we're at it, Zenobia, maybe clean up your own mess before pointing fingers. Leo. Geraldo. Your social life is… colorful."
Color rose in Zenobia's cheeks. Her tone softened, almost pleading. "Samuel, I mean it. I want to make this work. I can't change the past, but I promise—from now on, I won't sleep with anyone else. Not even Leo."
The last part came out almost childlike.
Samuel looked at her battered face and suddenly laughed. It wasn't joy, and it wasn't pain—it was something bitter in between, a kind of amusement even he couldn't name.
For this woman, he had walked away from Taylor. And now, because of another woman who wasn't even worth the trouble, Taylor was back in his life—but only because she needed his help for someone else.
The irony was almost too much to bear.
Zenobia mistook his laugh for hope. She leaned closer, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Let's start over. We can make it work this time."
Samuel shoved her back.
His smile was gone. "The things you've done, I can't stomach. You and I were never meant to be anything but enemies."
Zenobia blinked, stunned. Then her voice sharpened. "Samuel, are you out of your mind? I could have you thrown in prison right now. Don't you want to keep living comfortably?"
He ignored the threat.
Instead, he told Quentin to air out the office to get rid of Cressida's perfume—and to escort Zenobia out. No matter how loud she screamed, SamZen Tech's security team removed her without ceremony.
When Quentin returned after cleaning up the mess, he found Samuel sitting silently, holding a diamond ring. Quentin recognized it instantly—Taylor's old wedding ring. His chest tightened.
"Mr. Collins," Quentin said quietly.
Samuel didn't look up. His eyes stayed on the ring as he murmured, "I did this to myself, didn't I? I had Taylor… and I let her go."
Quentin had no answer. He could only sigh.
That night, after a business dinner, Samuel didn't go home. He didn't want to return to the house filled with Taylor's memories—not when Zenobia was living there now.
He walked through the quiet streets instead, a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke his only companion. Anything was better than seeing Zenobia.
A small private clinic sat on the corner. Nurses were leaving for the night, still in their uniforms. One of them caught his eye—long dark hair, delicate features, something in her face that reminded him of Taylor. She hurried toward a white BMW, where a man was already stepping out to open the passenger door for her, shielding her from the cold.
They didn't drive off right away. Through the windshield, Samuel could see them talking—the woman cradling a cup of hot cocoa, smiling as the man teased her and pinched her cheek.
They looked happy.
And just like that, Samuel was back in another winter night years ago, waiting outside the hospital to pick up Taylor. They would sit in the car with a single cup of cocoa between them, talking about her patients and his work. In hindsight, those days felt like the sweetest chapter of his life.
A sharp ache gripped his chest. It spread fast, stealing his breath, forcing him to crouch against a cold brick wall. Snow clung to the shadows, untouched and unmelting. His ragged breathing was the only sound in the quiet street.
Tears came hot and fast, melting small craters into the snow. He hadn't cried when his company nearly went under. He hadn't cried when he was broke and desperate. But now, with Taylor's ring clenched in his fist, he wept like a child.
People passed by. Some thought the well-dressed man was drunk, others that he'd lost someone. No one dared to approach. None of them knew he was Samuel Collins, the man behind SamZen Tech.
A black Bentley rolled past.
Taylor was at the wheel. She saw him—saw him hunched in the shadows, tears streaking his face. She knew exactly what that look meant: regret.
Taylor had never regretted the divorce. But she couldn't deny they had shared moments she would never forget. Without those memories, she might not have been able to walk away with her head high.
For her, it was over.
The Bentley slid past. Samuel caught the license plate and froze.
It was her.
Somehow, he found the strength to get to his feet and run after the car, but it pulled farther and farther away.
In the stillness of the night, Samuel stood alone in the empty street and whispered, "Did you ever love me?"