Chapter 82

Brock's gaze fixed on the elevator as it climbed out of sight, and the whole group stood there, baffled.

"Can you believe Yvonne actually used that exclusive elevator?" said Brock,his voice laced with disbelief.

His assistant let out a bitter laugh. "That woman knows how to twist people around her finger. Mr.Powell is so wrapped up in her charm that he can't see straight anymore. Poor Rita doesn't stand a chance."

Those words jolted Brock back to his senses. He slapped his forehead, furious that he had almost fallen for Yvonne's act. How did she even have the nerve to strut around like she owned the place?

The heat of his anger boiled over, dark thoughts flickering through his mind.

Turning sharply toward his assistant, he ordered, "Follow Yvonne's every move, and make her life as difficult as you can."

"Yes, sir," replied the assistant with a firm nod.

Meanwhile, the elevator doors slid open at the top floor, and Yvonne stepped out. One glance at the space around her eased the dissatisfaction she had been carrying.

There was plenty of room to move around, and the whole place was kitted out like a proper mini film studio-private offices and everything.

As she surveyed the setup, a nagging thought struck her. None of this could have been pieced together overnight.How long had Julian been planning this?

The more she wondered, the less she could make sense of his intentions.

With a small shake of her head, she brushed the question aside, opened the office door, and stepped in.

The design suited her taste perfectly. Clean lines,a genuine leather couch, matching armchairs, and a lush,pricey rug underfoot.

She sank her feet into the softness of the rug and let out a crooked smile.

Just looking around, Yvonne guessed the makeover alone cost more than two hundred thousand. For all she knew, Julian was either cutting corners on purpose or just giving her a hard time.

Running her hand along the polished desk, a half-crazy idea popped into her mind. Maybe she could dismantle the furniture and sell it off for cash.

That crazy idea fizzled just as quickly as it came.After the rough morning and a drawn-out spat with Morton over lunch, she hadn't eaten anything except for a sad cup of coffee. Right now, hunger was the only thing on her mind.

Yvonne sank into the sofa, the cushions swallowing her weight, and released a long breath of relief. If only she had something tasty to go with the moment,it would have been perfect. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the lunchbox Julian had packed for her earlier that morning.

For a fleeting second, she thought him rather considerate. But once the lid flipped open, her mouth twitched, and that fleeting gratitude evaporated at the sight of a strange, unidentifiable mess staring back at her.

The dish looked like it had survived a disaster. She could not even guess what it was supposed to be,and she wasn't about to gamble her life to find out.

Somewhere in the chaos, she spotted what appeared to be beef tangled with limp broccoli.

At least Julian's mind for nutrition remained intact.Even if the meal itself looked like punishment, the balance of protein and vegetables was, in theory,spot on.

Her stomach gave a loud protest, forcing another sigh from her lips. Ordering delivery would mean discarding this untouched box, and that felt ungrateful in its own way. Finally, she steeled herself, speared a chunk of broccoli with her fork, and raised it like a soldier preparing for battle.

The taste nearly brought tears to her eyes. That was just awful. She had long given up on him mastering seasoning, but sweetness in broccoli? Had he truly mistaken sugar for salt?

By the time she forced the last bite down, nausea rolled through her. She shoved the lunchbox out of sight and drowned her misery with two tall glasses of water.

Right then and there, she swore she would convince Julian never to make her lunch again.

With the ordeal behind her, Yvonne swallowed her medication and curled back into the sofa, pulling out her work.

She knew there was no fixing things with Brock. The only path forward was carving out her own studio and producing a film with a two-hundred-thousand budget. It sounded like a fantasy, and reality pressed heavy against it. Soon enough, the medicine dulled her focus, and exhaustion swept her into a heavy sleep.

When her eyes blinked open again, the sun had already slipped away. Shadows draped the office,leaving the space hushed and unfamiliar. For a moment, she hardly recognized where she was.

Through the haze, she thought she saw a faint silhouette lingering in the dimness. The figure shifted, sending a chill up her spine. She clamped her eyes shut, her throat tightening as a scream threatened to break loose.