Chapter 27
Laura's POV
I spotted her from across the lobby.
My steps faltered as I clutched the Louis Vuitton handbag Richard had given me last month. In my other hand, I held a folder of project documents. The receptionist walking beside me gave me a curious glance.
Where has she been hiding? Richard had been losing his mind for days since she disappeared. The entire Harrison Group was in chaos—executives panicking about the upcoming IPO. And here was Grace, tucked away as if nothing had happened.
I narrowed my eyes at the contract in her hand. So that's why she's here—trying to start over without the Harrison Group's backing? Good luck with that.
Grace barely acknowledged my presence, just a cold glance as if we were strangers passing on the street. That dismissal burned worse than any insult.
"Grace! Seeing a friend and not even saying hello?" I called out, making sure my voice carried across the marble lobby. The reception area went quiet.
The executive walking beside Grace looked startled. The receptionist guiding me suddenly seemed uncomfortable. I noticed how everyone was treating Grace—with deference, like she was someone important. Not just a guest, but someone who mattered.
The executive slowed his pace. "Ms. Wilson, do you know this woman?"
Grace turned, her expression unreadable. "Not really," she said with casual disdain. "The industry must be struggling if people are claiming to be friends for networking opportunities."
The sting of her words hit me like a slap. My cheeks burned.
---
Grace's POV
"What are you playing at?" she hissed, getting too close for comfort. "Running away from Richard because of some fight?"
I raised my eyebrows, feigning confusion.
Laura was trying hard to keep her smile in place, but her eyes were pure venom. "Richard doted on you for years. Your experience, your perfume skills—everything came from the Harrison Group. You really think anyone will recognize your talent without their backing?"
I noticed her gaze dropping to the investment contract in my hand. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head. She thought I was here begging for work or investment. The truth was so much more satisfying, but she didn't deserve an explanation.
Suddenly, Laura lunged for my folder. "What are you trying to pull? Stealing our contacts to—"
I stepped back easily, and she stumbled, nearly spilling her latte all over her cream-colored blouse.
"Ms. Parker! Please don't harass our guests!" The receptionist looked mortified.
"Guest?" Laura scoffed, regaining her balance. "Her? She's just a perfumer who got lucky through the Harrison Group. What kind of guest is she?"
I brushed invisible dust from my suit jacket. "Does Botanica Luxe usually allow people with this... lack of professionalism to discuss partnerships?"
The manager looked panicked. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Wilson! This is completely unacceptable!"
Laura froze at the deference in his voice.
"Ms. Parker, I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to leave," the receptionist said firmly.
Laura's face drained of color. "Leave? That's ridiculous! I'm here at your Vice President's invitation! I have a signing meeting today!"
When nobody backed down, she switched tactics, her voice softening. "I apologize for the outburst. It was personal and unprofessional. But I assure you, it won't affect our business relationship."
The manager cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Ms. Parker, but we'll need to explain this to the Vice President. The project evaluation still needs board approval... given recent risk assessments regarding Harrison Group, we'll contact you after further review."
I didn't need to stay for this humiliation. As the elevator doors closed, I caught a glimpse of two security guards approaching Laura. Her face was a mask of shock and fury.
My phone buzzed with a text from Richard: How long are you going to keep this up? Don't you care about me and the company anymore? Your entire team resigned. Do you even know that?
His tone had changed—no more desperate pleading. He was still certain I'd come crawling back, but now he was getting angry that his plan wasn't working. The fact that he wasn't bombarding me with calls meant he still believed he had leverage.
I thought about Laura's expression moments ago. Things between them must not be going well. According to my source, Margaret Harrison had wasted no time—the photos I'd sent had reached her last night, and Laura had been unceremoniously kicked out of the mansion.
---
I'd been alone in the conference room for hours, organizing market projection data. The team had left around nine, but I'd insisted on staying to finish.
That was the problem with being a workaholic—when I focused, everything else disappeared. Time, hunger, even physical discomfort. Until I couldn't ignore it anymore.
The first cramp felt like someone had reached inside and twisted my insides. I gasped, clutching the edge of the conference table. Shit. My period. I'd been so busy with the transition to Wilson Holdings that I'd completely lost track of my cycle.
After a quick bathroom trip, I returned to work. The pain was manageable with some deep breathing. Just a few more spreadsheets to organize, and I could go home.
But within an hour, the cramps had intensified to a level I'd never experienced before. Sweat beaded on my forehead as waves of nausea rolled through me. My vision blurred at the edges.
Just get to your bag. Get the painkillers. I tried to stand but immediately doubled over. The pain was excruciating—like hot knives stabbing repeatedly into my abdomen.
I collapsed back into the chair, my body trembling. My silk blouse was damp with sweat. Even shifting in my seat sent fresh spasms of pain radiating through my core.
This isn't normal. Through the haze of pain, I fumbled for my phone. The screen swam before my eyes as I tried to call Julie. No answer.
It was 2 AM. Rain pounded against the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was alone in a 40-story building with pain so intense I could barely move.
Another wave of pain hit, and I cried out involuntarily, curling into myself. My trembling fingers scrolled down to Alex's number and hit call.
He answered immediately. "Grace?"
"My stomach," I managed between labored breaths. "It hurts... so bad."
"Where are you?" His voice was sharp, alert despite the hour.
"Wilson... Wilson Holdings," I whispered before another cramp seized me. I whimpered, unable to hold back the sound of pain.
"I'm coming. Stay on the line."
But the phone slipped from my sweat-slicked hand, clattering to the floor as I doubled over in agony.