Chapter 50

After saying that, Giselle got closer to Donovan and ran her fingers over his custom-tailored shirt. “She bought this for you, didn’t she? Honestly? It’s kind of…”

Before he could react, she pulled the cigarette from her lips and pressed it into the fabric, burning a hole in the shirt out of spite.

“Are you mad?” he roared, shoving her away forcefully.

Seeing the damage, Donovan’s fury boiled over. He felt like he could choke her to death. It wasn’t about the shirt, which had cost tens of thousands. What enraged him was the sheer madness Giselle dared to show, right here in his office.

Giselle knew this shirt well. If she was right, it was from a luxury brand Anne had invested in, one that Anne had explicitly designed for Donovan.

Anne was a creative woman—an accomplished violinist and a skilled fashion designer. Renee had poured money into Anne’s fashion business, determined to see her succeed.

Not only had Donovan agreed to marry her—something that still stung Giselle—but he also wore the shirt she had given him. It made him look effortlessly dashing, and that made Giselle’s jealousy burn all the hotter.

“Since you’re so determined to marry her and love her so much, I suppose I should just offer my best wishes,” she said with a forced smile, flicking her cigarette.

Donovan caught the dark gleam in her eyes and knew immediately she was up to no good again, but he didn’t care. He grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his.

“Giselle, if anything else happens to my wedding this time, I swear I’ll send you straight to prison for a decade!”

“Could you really bear to do that?” Giselle sneered, thinking he was just trying to scare her. “There’s no way you’d send me to prison. Even if your mouth says so, your body wouldn't allow it.”

Donovan was speechless—his rage flaring. His grip tightened to the point that it felt like her jaw might snap. Finally, he spat, “Bitch,” and let her go.

He was always rough, but only in bed. Once the sheets cooled, he returned to his cold, detached self, avoiding women as if they were poison.

But Giselle was different. She made him want to strangle her, and yet he wanted to kiss her just as badly. She always left him torn between fury and desire. “Oh, calm down, Mr. Kane,” she acted as if nothing had happened.

With a soft chuckle, she said coldly, “Didn’t I say I’d give you my best wishes? I never said I’d ruin your wedding. Since you’re getting married, I’m prepared to leave you for good. You can chase your own happiness now.”

Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek, rising on tiptoe before he could react.

With that, she grabbed her bag and headed for the door without hesitation.

Donovan stood there, watching her go, dark and brooding. Her words lingered in his mind, gnawing at him. His frustration boiled over, and he swept the coffee cup from his desk, splattering it on the floor. After venting his anger, he retreated into the CEO’s lounge to change clothes.

The lounge was spacious, complete with a wardrobe, bedroom, and bathroom. It was designed like his private villa, his home away from home. He could simply sleep there without returning to his house when late nights stretched too long.

After leaving Donovan’s office, Giselle slid into the back of the cab she’d called for.

The backseat offered no escape from the whirlwind of thoughts. Her mind replayed Donovan, her deep-seated grudge against the Holt family, and the haunting terror of drowning behind the wheel.

The fire of revenge burned within her. She had to have Donovan for herself—love or not didn’t matter. What mattered was snatching something precious from them. Only then could she make them suffer as deeply as she had.