Called Off the Wedding, Left Him Bankrupt novel Chapter 233

The investor Benedict had brought in turned out to be Terrance.

“Ms. Tremaine, this way please.”

Benedict’s assistant noticed Cynthia had paused outside the meeting room and gestured politely for her to enter.

Expressionless, Cynthia strode into the conference room. While everyone else followed Benedict’s lead, exchanging greetings with Terrance, she walked to the far end of the long table and sat down.

The scrape of her chair was anything but subtle, drawing every eye in the room—including Terrance’s—straight to her.

Benedict’s face tightened. He quickly spoke up, eager to smooth things over and introduce her. “Mr. Tremaine, this is my fiancée—”

Cynthia’s cold voice cut him off, her brow furrowing. “Is Mr. Shepard suffering from amnesia? Did I not say ‘we’re done’ loudly enough? Or was your wedding with Giselle not grand enough for you?”

Benedict’s face turned a shade darker, and someone sitting nearest to Cynthia gave a discreet cough—a gentle warning.

“Ms. Tremaine,” they whispered, “Mr. Shepard brought in Mr. Tremaine as a potential investor for VistaSphere Group. Maybe let it go for today?”

Cynthia gave a short, scornful laugh and shot Terrance a mocking glance.

Benedict drew a silent, steadying breath and leaned over to murmur an explanation to Terrance, “My apologies, Mr. Tremaine. We’re going through a bit of a rough patch. Please, have a seat, and I’ll begin the presentation.”

Terrance finally looked away from Cynthia and sat down where Benedict had indicated.

The meeting began on schedule.

Terrance had been genuinely interested in VistaSphere Group, but after witnessing Cynthia’s frosty reception, he started to reconsider. For a company just getting off the ground, internal discord was a red flag.

“I’m going to step out to the restroom,” he announced.

“I’ll show you the way,” Benedict said quickly.

It was obvious Benedict only knew the surface-level story.

Watching his self-assured expression, Cynthia’s lips quirked in faint amusement. She said quietly, “Let me make this clear: I’m not surrendering twenty percent of my shares. If you want him to have that much, you’ll need to cobble it together yourselves.”

Benedict’s brow furrowed, his face stiffening.

“Cynthia, don’t you want VistaSphere Group to survive this crisis?”

“We built this company from a handful of people to a thousand-strong team. If VistaSphere Group goes under, a thousand people lose their jobs—a thousand families will be affected.”

“Cynthia, you always said that people in our position must have a sense of social responsibility. Have you forgotten your own words?”

Cynthia looked up at him with cool indifference, unmoved by his passionate appeal.