C9 I Won't Let You Have Your Way!

In truth, I find such groveling behavior in front of others just as contemptible as anyone else might.

I fled the marketing center, tilting my head back to face the sky, feigning indifference to it all.

Off to the right, there was a small garden where I sought refuge, scurrying in like a rat dodging traffic.

My cheeks were aflame, the external chill rendered insignificant.

Dahlia appeared out of nowhere, pressing a warm cup of red bean milk tea into my hands.

She spared me any questions and walked away, preserving my dignity.

Looking up, I caught sight of a towering building in the distance, the words "Paris Spring" glinting in silver.

The humiliation I felt earlier was quickly overshadowed by resentment.

I harbored no regrets about the contract I'd signed at a reduced price.

Aware that Azure Coast's construction costs far exceeded those of Paris Spring, it made sense for the price to be several thousand more. Yet, I refused to let the Jones Group, manipulated by those three harpies, win.

I sipped generously from the red bean milk tea, my gaze fixed on the distant Paris Spring, contemplating.

I pondered how to secure more contracts without compromising the company's interests.

A looming shadow cast itself beside the bench.

I turned and met Wesley's inscrutable face with a grin, "Good to see you, Director Haineville."

That was the customary greeting whenever he visited the office.

He hadn't been in the meeting room earlier, so he must have only recently heard the news.

Dressed in a black suit and a crisp overcoat of the same color, the white collar of his shirt stood out starkly.

He acknowledged my greeting with a cold hum, then followed my gaze, asking in a measured tone, "What revelation have you come to after all this contemplation?"

Feigning ignorance, I replied, "What revelation? I haven't come up with anything."

"You get out of jail, skip going home, and show up at my company stirring up trouble. What's your angle?"

I laughed, though the pain from the swelling on my cheek cut it short, "You think I'm here to play the spy?"

He snatched the half-finished milk tea from my hand, casually sipping from the same straw I had used, and remarked coolly, "You don't have the brains for espionage. Sawyer wouldn't even consider it."

I inhaled deeply and, through clenched teeth, asked, "So what does it mean to 'have a brain'?"

He seemed to have developed a taste for my milk tea, leisurely taking another sip before replying, "You saw for yourself at Phantom. Layla and I are on good terms. If you were smart, you wouldn't have crossed me or slapped me. You should've tried to win me over and get under Layla's skin. Wouldn't that have advanced your quest for revenge?"

My expression chilled as I fixed him with an unblinking stare.

Had he grown suspicious the last time I rode in his car?

Otherwise, why bring up Layla out of the blue?

He cupped my face with his hand, right where I'd been slapped.

The calloused pads of his fingers sent a shiver through me, making me squirm in discomfort, eager to escape his touch.

But he persisted, gently stroking my cheek as he sighed, "Such deep-seated hatred in your eyes. How could anyone have let you out with that?"

"What else do you know?" I recoiled, truly unnerved by his insight. Without revealing anything, how could he read my thoughts so accurately?

Did this man possess some sort of x-ray vision?

He rose to his feet, pressing the half-finished milk tea into my hand. His sharp features loomed close, his tone grave, "Pay attention. I don't care what schemes you're harboring, but keep in line while you're at my company. If I catch you doing anything detrimental to my business, you won't get off easily."

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly, "Eager to get rid of me, aren't you? Too bad, I have no intention of playing into your hands."