Chapter 147 John's Harassment
"Miss," the receptionist's tone turned cold, "I don't care who you are. No appointment, no entry. If you keep making a scene, I'll have security escort you out."
Outside the Anderson Group building, Melissa clenched her jaw, muttering a curse under her breath.
Blair was such an idiot. How could she pick a fight with the front desk?
This was going to ruin everything.
Melissa held her breath and scanned the area, searching for a way to salvage the situation.
That's when she noticed a girl across the street — plain-looking, holding up her phone with the camera aimed straight at the lobby.
Melissa instinctively shrank back, watching the girl from the shadows.
A second later, her phone buzzed. A message popped up in the group chat, tagged to everyone.
[Guess what I just saw? Blair from our school is having a screaming match with someone!]
[Wait, that place looks familiar...]
[Are you serious? You don't recognize the Anderson Group? But what's Blair doing there?]
[Chasing Mr. Anderson, obviously. What else would it be?]
[Mr. Anderson must be something special if three girls are fighting over him. This is getting good.]
[You better delete that before the Anderson Group finds out. They'll slap you with a lawsuit so fast your head will spin.]
The chat exploded. Relief washed over Melissa. Thank God she hadn't gone in herself — otherwise, she'd be the one getting roasted right now.
She narrowed her eyes at the building entrance.
As one of the most popular girls on campus, she had to be smarter than this. She couldn't afford to look desperate.
She glanced down at her phone. Her finger hovered over the screen.
A moment later, a ringtone echoed from inside the lobby. Blair froze mid-rant, then slapped the receptionist's hand away in irritation.
She yanked her phone out of her bag. The screen showed Melissa's name. Blair's eyes darted toward the street.
She didn't see anyone familiar. Frowning, she answered.
"Where are you?"
"Blair, someone's filming you. The video's already in the group chat. Get out of there. Now."
Blair's heart lurched. She opened the chat.
The comments hit her like a slap. Her anger flared instantly, her fingers flying across the screen.
Melissa's voice sharpened on the other end. "Blair, don't do anything. Not yet."
Blair's voice was tight with fury. "What do you mean, don't do anything? Just let them trash me?"
"Blair, just get out here. We'll figure it out. If you start defending yourself now, they'll just think you're embarrassed. It'll make things worse." Melissa's tone was firm, barely holding back her own frustration.
Blair let out a harsh breath and hung up. She turned on her heel and marched out, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
The camera followed her until she disappeared from view.
Once the coast was clear, Melissa stepped forward and grabbed Blair's arm.
Before she could speak, Blair's hand cracked across her face.
Melissa froze, her cheek stinging.
"This was your brilliant idea," Blair hissed. "Now I'm the laughingstock of the entire school. And you? You get to stay in the shadows while I take all the heat." Her eyes burned with rage. "I'm going straight to the group chat and telling them everything. Let them tear you apart instead."
Blair's eyes were red-rimmed, her lips drawn into a trembling line.
Melissa's stomach dropped.
"Blair, I was trying to give you the opportunity. If you can get close to Mr. Anderson, all of this — the suspension, the gossip — it'll disappear. You'll be untouchable."
Blair's expression softened slightly, but her voice was still sharp. "All I see right now is that I'm a joke."
"I'll send Mr. Anderson an invitation to the school anniversary event. In your name." Melissa's voice was steady, determined. "When he shows up, everyone who laughed at you will shut their mouths."
Blair gave her a long, cold look. "You better make it happen. Because if you don't, I'll make sure you regret it."
After Blair left, Melissa slowly unclenched her fists. She exhaled, releasing the tension coiled in her chest, and pulled out a business card.
Her fingertip traced over Barry's name.
She hoped this would work.
Time passed.
Golden banners hung from the exterior walls of the auditorium, sunlight streaming through the glass dome overhead and scattering in fragmented beams across the courtyard.
Bianca stood near the entrance in a cream-colored ceremonial uniform, her posture rigid, her hair pulled back without a single strand out of place. She held a gold-embossed guest registry in one hand, her stance so precise it looked like it had been measured with a protractor.
She glanced toward the auditorium.
Blair stood inside, draped in a silk gown, her fingers lightly brushing across her phone screen. Her eyes swept over the passing students and faculty, her voice deliberately sweet.
"Mr. Anderson? Oh, he'll be here any minute."
"We're pretty close, actually. I was surprised he agreed to come, but I guess he couldn't say no."
"When you meet him, I'll make sure to put in a good word for you."
Bianca's lips curled into a faint smirk. She was about to look away when Blair's gaze landed on her.
A second later, Blair walked over and handed her a card printed with sponsor information.
"The main entrance is covered. Mr. Smith changed his route last minute. You're going to meet him instead." Blair's smile didn't reach her eyes, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Mr. Smith is one of our major sponsors. We can't afford to mess this up."
Bianca took the card. Her fingers brushed over the name — John Smith — and something cold twisted in her chest.
The name had sounded familiar before. Now she remembered exactly who this John was.
She looked up and met Blair's smiling eyes.
"As one of the key members of the reception team, I'm sure you can handle this."
Blair turned and walked back toward the auditorium, her gown sweeping across the floor, leaving no room for protest.
Bianca watched her go, her grip tightening slightly on the card.
She let out a soft, bitter laugh and headed toward the side entrance.
Ten minutes later, a black sedan pulled up. The door opened, and John Smith stepped out, his bulky frame stuffed into an ill-fitting suit.
The moment his feet hit the pavement, his eyes locked onto Bianca. His tongue flicked across his lips as he lumbered toward her, his gut straining against his belt.
"You're part of the reception team?" John looked her up and down, his gaze crawling over her body without shame. "Not bad. What department are you in?"
He moved closer, reeking of stale cologne and something sour. His hand reached out, aiming for her wrist.
"Walk me to the auditorium. I've got a lot of questions about the schedule. You can fill me in on the way."
Bianca shifted her wrist with precision, avoiding his touch entirely. Her fingers remained steady on the guest registry, her voice calm and professional.
"Mr. Smith, please follow me. I've prepared a detailed schedule for you. Once we're inside, someone will guide you through the rest of the event."
Her composure was flawless. Polite, composed, and completely unshakable. No fear. No concession.
John's hand hung in midair. The fat around his jaw twitched. His smile faded, and something cold flickered in his eyes.
He narrowed his gaze, studying her closely.