The video feed ended, and the screen went black.
Maxwell took a deep breath, forcing his voice to remain as calm as possible as he sent a voice note to Silas.
"This is entirely my fault. Silas, do you have time tonight? Let me buy you dinner and formally apologize. You—"
Before Maxwell could even finish, Silas cut him off with a text.
"No need."
Panic flared in Maxwell's chest, and he quickly replied, "Director Chambers, this was a massive oversight on my part. A problem occurred, and it needs to be fixed. Please don't write this off. I genuinely don't want this to sour our relationship."
"I said, no need," Silas's voice note was ice-cold. "Mr. Sterling, if your wife hadn't come to me personally and brilliantly pitched the scope of your project, I would never have associated with you in the first place. I don't care if the Sterling Corporation has all the money in the world. If you bring nothing of value to my art, I won't give you a second look. You should know this."
"And given the rampant rumors surrounding the three of you right now, I refuse to partner with someone whose morals are in the gutter. This collaboration is officially terminated. Whether you want to sue or walk away, I couldn't care less. Speak to my legal team."
With that, Silas hung up.
When Maxwell tried calling back, the line was dead. He had been blocked.
He had just lost a guaranteed, highly lucrative project—all because of Aria. His emotions were a tangled, suffocating mess.
He had no idea how much time passed before he finally slammed the phone onto his desk, his fists clenched tight.
Knock, knock, knock—
The sound jolted him out of his dark thoughts. "Come in," he said coldly.
The door opened, and Leo Thorne walked in, carrying a folder.
"Boss, I need your signature on this."
Only the mention of work managed to drag Maxwell slightly back to reality.


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