CHAPTER 153: CHAPTER 153: THERE’S NO WAY JULIAN SINCLAIR AND I COULD EVER BE TOGETHER AGAIN

Julian Sinclair leaned against the edge of the table, remaining silent for a moment before he slowly spoke: "Let’s wait until she’s completely cut ties with Timothy Xavier and that marriage. Right now, Timothy and his people are still clinging on. If they find out Eleanor is still alive and follow this lead, sooner or later they’ll dig up your violation of medication protocols."

Shaun Sinclair’s expression instantly grew serious and he agreed: "You’re right, we have to be extremely cautious about this!"

The two exchanged a look, both seeing the weight of worry reflected in each other’s eyes.

...

Veridia.

I hung up on Julian Sinclair and sat at my desk, staring blankly at my computer screen.

So how long is Julian going to stay mad?

"What are you spacing out for?"

Victoria Monroe walked over with a thick stack of documents in her arms, urging me, "There’s a mountain of drafts to proof today, plus several urgent news pieces that need to go out. If you drag your feet any more, you’ll miss picking up the kids tonight!"

I snapped back to reality, suddenly recalling how Madam Sinclair had specifically told me this morning that she’d be attending a tea party this afternoon, and had a dinner gathering tonight—she wouldn’t be able to watch the kids at home, so I needed to get off work early to pick them up.

Any rosy daydreams and worry in my heart vanished instantly. I hurriedly opened the documents and my fingers began flying across the keyboard.

As the end of the workday drew near, I finally wrapped up all my work—just one last news story waiting to be uploaded.

But just as I clicked the "Publish" button, the website suddenly froze, then a prompt popped up: "Server error."

The office instantly buzzed with all sorts of murmurs, and my coworkers all turned their eyes to me, curious and a bit strange.

I was bewildered, but Victoria Monroe rushed over, panic on her face, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me into the break room next door.

"Zoe, you and President Sinclair... is it true?"

She locked the door behind her and shoved her tablet in my face, eyes filled with disbelief. "You actually moved into President Sinclair’s house? Living together?"

My heart plummeted. My gaze fell on the trending topics on her tablet, and in an instant, I understood why the network had crashed.

#AureliaSinclairHeirInSuspectedTabooAffair# and #TimothyXaviersWifeCheatsWithCapitalCirclePrince# were trending, dominated by tags about me, Julian Sinclair, and Timothy Xavier.

I clicked into the threads—the first thing popping up were photos of me coming and going from The Sinclair Estate, shot from tricky angles but scarily clear.

Then came a post by Julian Sinclair’s former secretary, Jolie Joyce, on X, saying she saw me sitting on Julian’s lap in the office, acting intimately.

Even "sources" claimed Julian was actually Timothy’s uncle, and that I was having a taboo affair with my husband’s uncle.

The internet exploded on impact, with lines and lines of vile comments flooding in:

"Oh my god, this scandal just did a 180! Thought the wife was going to expose the cheating bastard, but turns out she ran off and hooked up with his uncle."

"High society really does play by different rules! I used to feel sorry for Zoe Ellison, but now she looks like someone desperate to climb the social ladder!"

"Isn’t Julian Sinclair the ’Grim Reaper’ of the legal world? And isn’t The Sinclair Family famous for their strict family rules? This is their idea of family rules? Fooling around with your nephew’s wife, that’s a new low!"

Those mean-spirited words pierced my eyes like needles. All the blood in my body seemed to freeze; I couldn’t stop trembling.

Victoria Monroe stared at me, the shock in her tone growing: "Wait a second... is this actually true? Are you really with President Sinclair—"

"It’s not what you think!"

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, fixing her with a serious look.

Victoria paused briefly, then nodded firmly, "I believe you! But with all this out there right now, how are you going to clear your name?"

She hesitated, then, as if a thought suddenly struck her, gritted out, "That bitch Jolie Joyce must be out of her mind! Daring to expose this publicly! Or maybe it’s Serena Sawyer’s doing. Or the two of them working together!"

A wave of unease hit me as I suddenly recalled that nagging feeling like someone’s been watching me these past few days.

Turns out it wasn’t my imagination—paparazzi had been stalking me all along!

Those photos online, of me entering and leaving The Sinclair Estate, or taking Madam Sinclair for a walk—every single scene was crystal clear, obviously long premeditated.

The air in the office turned oppressive in an instant. Staring at those twisted, upside-down comments on the tablet, I felt a chill race from my feet to my scalp.

This was clearly a trap, meticulously laid out by someone.

Just then, frantic knocking came at the break room door.

A coworker’s anxious voice rang out: "Editor-in-Chief Monroe, Zoe! You two should come out—there’s this old lady, skin and bones, kneeling in the lobby! She won’t say a word, and nothing we do gets her up, it’s terrifying!"

Victoria and I exchanged a glance.

My heart seized up. I jumped to my feet and rushed out.

There was a crowd of whispering coworkers in the center of the lobby. The woman kneeling on the cold tiles was, shockingly, Timothy Xavier’s grandmother, Diana Caldwell.

She looked even more emaciated than she had during our last meeting. Her loose clothes hung on her like a hanger—her knees holding her up were shaking.

And yet this late-stage cancer patient barely able to stand insisted on kneeling before everyone, staring straight at me.

I rushed forward, trying to help her up, but she wrenched her wrist from my grip with surprising force.

"Zoe, please, I beg you. Leave Julian, let him go, please?"

She stubbornly knelt there, her hoarse, desperate voice echoing through the silent office: "Julian’s spent years building his good name and reputation—don’t ruin him like this!"

The pointing and whispering all around made me feel like I was roasting over an open fire.

Someone quietly pulled out their phone to record us.

Seeing this, Victoria Monroe suddenly strode forward and snapped, "Put your phones away! There are cameras all over this office—if anyone dares leak what happened here today, you all know what President Sinclair does for a living! Who’s going to take responsibility if he comes after you?"

Everyone was startled into putting their phones away, though their eyes still darted over us, unsatisfied.

Victoria checked the time and made a snap decision: "It’s closing time. Get going, everyone!"

The coworkers all left at Victoria’s urging. But I was so choked up I couldn’t even say thank you.

Victoria reminded me, "Take care of this as soon as possible. If you can’t handle it, talk to President Sinclair. This isn’t just your battle. Don’t try to shoulder it alone."

I murmured an acknowledgment and Victoria left as well.

Only Diana Caldwell and I remained in the office.

Her sobs sounded again, still repeating: "Zoe, just have pity on an old woman about to die—please, let Julian go..."

Sorrow gripped my chest, nearly suffocating me.

After a long silence, my voice was as calm and still as dead water: "Alright, I promise you."

She looked up abruptly, cloudy eyes filled with disbelief. "Really? You’re not lying to me?"

"I keep my word."

I bit my lip hard and said, word by word, "Julian Sinclair and I... will not have a future. Now, can you get up?"

It felt like saying those words drained every last bit of my strength—pain so sharp it radiated through every fiber of my body, even to my fingertips.

I did this, not for Diana Caldwell, but for Julian Sinclair.

So I extinguished with my own hands the last bit of light in my heart.

It was only then that she finally relaxed, bracing herself on the floor, wobbling to her feet.

I tried to support her, but she subtly avoided my touch.

"Let me take you back to The Kendall Family."

Even with everything on my plate, I couldn’t let a terminally ill woman go home alone—I just couldn’t.

But she shook her head, her tone distant: "No need. I had the driver bring me. If people find out I’m Julian’s mother, they’ll think I’ve accepted you as—"

She didn’t finish, but the rest was more hurtful than any insult.

I gave a self-mocking little smile, suddenly feeling like I was a plague everyone desperately wanted to avoid.

Once she left in the car, I all but fled the office myself.

In the car, I called Jenna Sutton, who instantly answered, her voice brimming with fury: "It’s definitely that bitch Serena Sawyer, playing dirty! Ugh, why can’t she just drop dead?"

Gripping the wheel, staring at the gridlock ahead, my heart felt like it was being crushed under a boulder.

After a while, I took a deep breath and steadied my voice: "Jenna, could you please take Doris and Sharon to my place tonight? You know my door code. I’ll be home later."

"Your place?" Jenna hesitated, confusion in her tone. "Aren’t I supposed to take them to The Sinclair Estate?"

"Given what’s happening, the further I stay from The Sinclair Family, the better."

I forced a bitter laugh, my voice laced with helplessness I couldn’t fully mask.

The Sinclair Family was already in the eye of the storm—if I stayed there, I’d only add to their troubles.

"I understand..."

Jenna’s voice was full of pain and worry for me. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the kids—just look after yourself, okay?"

By the time I reached The Sinclair Estate and pushed open the front door, a frantic maid rushed up to me.

"Miss Ellison, you’re finally back! Madam Sinclair fainted on the spot at the tea party this afternoon as soon as she heard the news—she’s still lying in bed!"

My heart clenched tight, waves of guilt washing over me.

I hurried into Madam Sinclair’s room to find her lying on the bed, face deathly pale.

I moved to her side, took her hand, and choked back tears: "Grandma, I’m so sorry... for putting you through this."

She slowly opened her eyes. When she saw it was me, she shook her head weakly. "Silly child, why are you apologizing? This isn’t your fault."

But I knew all too well the blow she had suffered this time.

On the way to her room, the maid had told me: ever since the news broke this afternoon, people had made sneering remarks at the tea party—"How did Madam Sinclair, so admired and respected, raise a grandson who would have a taboo affair?"

Others twisted my history with Timothy Xavier, saying The Sinclair Family had "picked up someone’s discarded shoes."

Madam Sinclair had placed her reputation above everything all her life. She had never endured this kind of humiliation in high society—there was no overstating how deeply this hurt her.

She gently patted my hand, her gaze full of affection. "Don’t be afraid, child. Let people say what they want. Their tongues are theirs, we can’t control them. I’ve already called Julian. He’ll be home soon, and he’ll take care of everything."

I knew she was only trying to comfort me.

But at this point, with the whole internet abuzz and those filthy rumors spreading like a virus, what could Julian really do once he got back? Who could silence such a raging tide? Who could fight back against so-called "freedom of speech"?

Her hand was warm, but my heart felt sliced open with pain.

In that moment, I knew with crystal clarity: I would never again have the chance to be her granddaughter-in-law.

I couldn’t drag this kind woman down with me—couldn’t let Julian wear the label of "incest" forever because of me.

"Grandma."

I took a deep breath, forcing back the welling tears. "I can’t stay at The Sinclair Family home anymore. You must take care of yourself, please don’t worry about me. When this all blows over, I... I’ll come see you again."

I said it lightly, but only I knew it was just empty comfort.

Once I left this house and cut ties with The Sinclair Family for good, there’d never be a reason to return.

Only by doing this could I prove Julian Sinclair’s innocence—only then would those rumors collapse on themselves.

Madam Sinclair reached for my hand, but with no strength left, she could only plead to keep me: "Zoe, you—"

I turned my face away, afraid to look her in the eyes—knowing if I looked one more second, I’d never bring myself to go.

I stood, bowed deeply to her—thanking her for her warmth and care—then spun around and walked quickly from the room, not daring to pause even a beat.

I was afraid that if I slowed, the only steel determination I had left would shatter.

...

On my way home, Doris called me.

On the other end, my little girl asked cautiously, "Mommy, when will you be home?"

I forced down all the churning chaos inside and tried to sound calm. "I’m on my way."

Doris hesitated. "Daddy just called me and asked how you’re doing. He said he can’t get in touch with you. Mommy, did something happen? Why did we suddenly move out of Great-grandma’s house?"

"Timothy Xavier"—even his name felt like a curse, haunting my every step.

In the end, this entire mess was set off by his mistress!

Again and again—it never ended.

I ignored my daughter’s questions, saying instead, "Mommy will explain when I get back. You and Sharon need to listen to Auntie Jenna and stay close, okay?"

Half an hour later, I finally got home.

Two little figures raced toward me as soon as I opened the door—Doris and Sharon.

Both kids looked up at me, their faces confused, clearly not understanding why we’d suddenly left The Sinclair Family home.

Jenna, already waiting in the living room, instantly jumped in to cover for me, soothing the kids: "Great-grandma isn’t feeling well lately. She’s worried you’ll be too noisy and disturb her rest, so we came home for now. Remember, good children finish what they start. That castle puzzle we were working on is still waiting in your room—shall we go finish it up?"

Kids are simple—just hearing "puzzle" made their confusion turn into excitement, and they nodded intently.

When they went back to their room, only Jenna and I were left in the living room.

Jenna looked grave, lowering her voice: "This time, was it Timothy Xavier behind it? Or was it Serena Sawyer? Or did they do it together?"

I collapsed heavily onto the sofa, feeling completely drained. "Whoever it was, things have gotten out of control and we have to deal with it now."

Jenna said, "Attorney Sinclair has always had a knack for problems like this—he’ll handle the public opinion storm, no problem."

"Handle it how?"

I asked weakly, my voice raw with fatigue. "At best, he can leverage his connections to scrub the sites by force—but he can’t stop the gossip. Just look, Madam Sinclair only went to a tea party and the snide comments alone were enough to make her faint. I can’t let that happen again. I can’t only think about myself."

Jenna seemed to remember something and added, "Wait, Attorney Sinclair hasn’t reached out to you at all?"

"He’s probably on his way back now. Not convenient to talk."

I paused, but couldn’t hold back any longer—so I told Jenna everything about the fight Julian and I had the other day, word for word.

Once I finished, Jenna just laughed it off. "Come on, what’s the big deal? All couples fight and misunderstand each other from time to time.

Ezra Payne and I have cold wars all the time too. He doesn’t contact me, I don’t contact him, but in the end, he always comes to make up first. You and Attorney Sinclair have barely had a cold war—he probably already wants to make up, looking for a chance. I bet it won’t be long before he comes to comfort you."

I gave a bitter smile. "He’s nothing like your Dr. Payne. He’s not the type to coddle anyone. And besides, this time... I don’t want him to comfort me."

My only thought now was to get Julian out of this storm as soon as possible.

After all, all this endless gossip—whether whipped up by Timothy or Serena—had always been aimed directly at me, and me alone.

Right then, my phone started buzzing. On the screen, "Julian Sinclair" lit up in bold letters.

I actually found myself at a loss what to do, my breath catching.

"Answer it!" Jenna, anxious, nudged me. Seeing me still hesitate, she just reached over and pressed the answer key herself.

The moment the call connected, Julian’s deep, faintly hoarse voice came through: "Grandma told me you moved out of The Sinclair home?"

My nose tingled. I could only manage a soft "Mm."

He was silent for a few seconds, then asked clearly, "Are you at your own place now?"

My voice was thick with tears, trembling uncontrollably. "Yes."

"Wait for me at home."

That was all he said—not a single extra question, not a word of explanation—then he hung up.

Jenna instantly leaned over, her expression giddy with excitement: "Don’t worry! Attorney Sinclair will handle this. He’ll never throw you under the bus. Couples might fight or argue, but when trouble hits, if he really loves you, he’ll never leave you behind."

Looking at the brightness in Jenna’s eyes, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy.

The way she said those words—it was like her eyes were filled with stars, so much faith and hope in love.

Anyone could see she and Dr. Payne were happy together.

As I was lost in thought, Jenna suddenly started scrolling her phone.

A few seconds later, she gasped: "Zoe, look! All those posts about you and Julian that were trending earlier—they’re gone!"

She thrust her phone before me.

The timeline that had been overflowing with speculation and toxic comments was now spotless, as if the rumors had never existed.

Jenna couldn’t help but marvel, "Attorney Sinclair moves fast! In such a short time, every single story about you two has vanished from the web. That kind of network... it’s impressive! Zoe, if I were you, I’d hold on to him tight. With Julian behind you—whether it’s love or real life—your road will be so much easier."

Of course I knew the wisdom of sheltering under someone’s shade.

But deep down, I still felt I needed to rely on myself the most—do only what I could handle, and that would bring true security.

Jenna winked at me playfully, teasing: "Looks like Attorney Sinclair is coming to comfort you soon. I’ll get out of here—I don’t want to be the third wheel!"

"Jenna, thank you."

I got up to walk her to the door, overflowing with gratitude inside.

She’d always been there for me at my lowest, when I needed her most.

Jenna rolled her eyes, pretending to be annoyed: "With friendship like ours, a thank you is too formal! When I have kids, I’ll need you to babysit sometimes when Dr. Payne and I want to be alone!"

I was a little exasperated by her and hurriedly agreed.

Once Jenna was gone, I sat back on the couch.

I took out my phone and opened all the afternoon’s tumultuous social media sites. Sure enough, every post about me had been scrubbed—no trace was left.

Julian had used the most direct, unyielding way to shut down the cyberbullying, silencing all voices.

But I knew all too well, this was only a temporary solution.

Very soon, the snide posts started flooding in:

"It sure pays to have power. Shut it down, sweep it away—no wonder uncle and nephew can share a wife!"

"Careful, or your account will get axed! With all those connections, you think a few haters scare them?"

"Get banned, who cares—I’ll just use a new account to keep talking!"

No names, but after this afternoon’s explosive rumors, everyone knew exactly what all this filth was pointing at.

Some even wrote mocking limericks, nastier than I could stand to read.

I just skimmed a few lines and then instantly threw my phone onto the sofa, chest aching with suffocation.

Just then, a new alert popped up on my phone.

Timothy Xavier’s official X account had just posted a fresh statement. It was instantly reposted everywhere, creating a whole new storm.

"My wife, Zoe Ellison, has always been kind and decent—she’s never done anything to betray me. I ask that everyone please show some mercy. With someone so outstanding, it’s not strange that others would covet her. But no matter what the rumors say, my wife is pure and innocent, and I trust her completely."

With that post, the internet went wild.

The comment section erupted with speculation:

"So, is he admitting someone actually ’got with’ his wife?"

"Timothy Xavier’s a scumbag, but at least he loves his wife—still stands up for her at a time like this!"

"What’s worse than a scumbag? Someone who steals another man’s wife! The Sinclair Family must have more power than The Xavier Family, or how could they dare go after the CEO’s woman?"

Suddenly, all the fire turned from me to Julian Sinclair.

All the ridicule, abuse—even personal attacks—crashed down on him.

Julian had done so much for me, yet in the end, I’d dragged him right into this cesspool.

He could’ve been The Sinclair Family’s spotless heir—the one standing at the top, admired by everyone.

And now, he’d become the "pervy guy" getting trashed by everyone.

I didn’t even dare picture Madam Sinclair stumbling across all this filth, already sick with grief—would she survive the extra blow?

Out of patience, I dialed Timothy Xavier’s number.

It barely rang once—he picked up immediately, his tone anxious: "Zoe, are you alright? Don’t worry, I’ll help you fix this right away."

"It was you and Serena Sawyer, wasn’t it?" I spat, my voice icy. "Timothy Xavier, you’re despicable!"

His tone turned darker, tinged with retort: "What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’d cuckold myself? Am I crazy?"

"You are crazy!"

I was shaking with fury. "That post you made on X effectively confirmed rumors about me and Julian Sinclair! Do you even realize what that means?"

He gave a cold laugh, sending a chill through me: "All I did was confirm that Julian covets you. As long as you don’t defend him publicly, no one will come after you. Or is it that you really do love my uncle, just like the rumors say—dying to be a doomed pair, drowned by everyone’s spit?"

"You—"

I was about to retort, but the doorbell suddenly rang.

I hung up, walked quickly to the door.

Sure enough, it was Julian Sinclair.

But I didn’t open the door. I spoke softly through it, "Attorney Sinclair, let’s not meet again from now on. Please go."

"Open the door."

His deep voice came from outside—just two words, impossible to refuse.