Chapter 125
Someone immediately chimed in. "Not just defeated—crushed! You should've seen Wilder's face. It changed on the spot!"
"I'm officially declaring it—starting today, Ms. Wipere is my idol! Anyone who tries to compete with me for that title is going down!"
Laughter and cheers mingled together, echoing down the hallway for a long time.
Lucinda didn't deliver any rousing speeches. She just leaned quietly against the wall, watching the employees who'd spent the day crying and careening from despair to euphoria. The light in her eyes softened a little.
She glanced down at her phone. Another message had come in.
From Reginald: [Watched the launch. Very badass.]
One sentence. Simple and direct.
Lucinda stared at it for two seconds. Her mouth curved slightly. She replied: [Not bad.]
The message went through. He replied instantly: [Dinner tonight? To celebrate.]
Lucinda thought for a moment, then typed: [We'll see.]
She pocketed her phone, straightened up, and clapped her hands, pulling everyone's attention back. "All right, enough. We've got work tomorrow. Everyone go home and rest."
The crowd in the hallway gradually dispersed, but the euphoric energy still hung in the air like an invisible mist, slow to fade.
Lucinda stood in place, looking at the now-empty hallway. She took a deep breath.
There was still a lot to do.
But today, it was worth celebrating.
At the same time, downstairs at the Douglas Group headquarters.
Preston stood at the entrance to the building, craning his neck to look up at the towering structure. His neck ached by the time he finally spotted the Douglas Group logo at the top.
He swallowed hard. His palms were slick with sweat. He clutched an envelope that had long since been soaked through, his knuckles white.
Inside the envelope was a bank card. Three million dollars.
This was his last bargaining chip.
He rehearsed the words in his head one more time.
'Mr. Douglas, we know we were wrong. Please show mercy and let us off the hook. This is just a small token of our respect. From now on, the Wipere Group will follow the Douglas Group's lead.'
Respectful wording. Humble posture. It should be enough.
He took a deep breath and started walking forward.
Before he even reached the entrance, two security guards in black uniforms blocked his path. "Sir, do you have an appointment?"
Preston forced a smile and pulled a business card from his pocket, handing it over. "I'm Preston from the Wipere Group. I'd like to see Mr. Douglas. It's urgent. Could you please let him know—"
The guard took the card, glanced at it, and handed it back expressionlessly. "No entry without an appointment."
Preston's smile froze. He quickly pulled the envelope from his pocket and tried to press it into the guard's hand, lowering his voice. "Please, just make an exception. I'll only take a few minutes. I'll leave right after—"
The guard's expression changed. He jerked his hand back like he'd been burned. The envelope fell to the ground. The bank card slid halfway out.
"Sir, please conduct yourself appropriately." The guard's voice turned cold. He took a step forward. "This is Douglas Group headquarters, not a marketplace. If you continue like this, we'll have to escort you out."
Preston bent down to pick up the envelope. His fingers hadn't even touched the ground when the other guard grabbed his arm, the grip so tight half his body went numb.
"What are you doing? I'm here to see Mr. Douglas! I have legitimate business—"
His words were cut off as he was dragged. The two guards seized him on either side and pushed him toward the exit.
"Let go of me! Do you know who I am? I'm from the Wipere Group—"
Before he could finish, the guards shoved him out onto the plaza outside the entrance. He stumbled several steps before catching his balance. The envelope flew from his hand.
The guards dusted off their hands, turned around, and walked back inside without sparing him a second glance.
Preston stood in the plaza, bending down to pick up the bank card. He wiped the dust off with his sleeve. His fingers trembled.
His face flushed crimson. His lips quivered as he stuffed the card back into the envelope, shoved it into his pocket, and hurried away.
At the top floor of the building, Manuel stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding a cup of coffee. His gaze drifted lazily down to the plaza below, landing on the retreating figure.
His assistant stood behind him, reporting in a low voice. "That was Preston, from the Wipere Group. He wanted to see you. Security turned him away."
Manuel took a sip of coffee. His brow furrowed slightly. "Preston? Who?"
The assistant's mouth opened. He hesitated, then explained, "He's from Ms. Wipere's adoptive father's side—"
Manuel set down his coffee cup and turned around, his tone flat. "What does that have to do with me?"
He picked up a file from the desk and flipped it open, his gaze falling on the dense rows of data. Preston and his envelope were completely erased from his mind.
The assistant wisely said nothing more and left the room.
Preston stood at the bus stop outside the Douglas Group building, clutching the envelope. The sun overhead beat down on his back, making it burn.
He pulled out his phone. The screen was filled with missed calls and text messages, every one of them demanding payment.
His phone buzzed again.
He answered. The voice on the other end was impatient and rushed.
"Mr. Wipere, have you made up your mind about the house? Fifty million dollars. Final offer. If you're selling, sell. If not, I'm going elsewhere."
Preston's hand clenched around the phone, his knuckles white.
That house was the most valuable asset under his name. Market value was at least two hundred million dollars. Now the buyer was offering fifty million—not even a fraction of what it was worth. "A two-hundred-million-dollar house and you're only offering fifty million? That's—"
"You don't have to sell." The voice on the other end was crisp and final. "Mr. Wipere, you know as well as I do that right now, no one else dares buy your house. The Douglas Group put out the word—anyone who buys your property is crossing them. I'm taking a huge risk by even offering. Fifty million is more than generous."
Preston's lips trembled. His throat felt like someone was choking him. He couldn't squeeze out a single word.
"I'm giving you one hour to decide. After that, the offer's off the table."
The call ended.
Preston stood under the bus stop shelter. The sun overhead made his vision swim with black spots.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were so red they looked ready to bleed.
He dialed back.
"I'll sell."
At the Wipere Villa, Allegra locked herself in her room. The curtains were drawn tight. The entire space was as dark as a basement.
She clutched her phone. On the screen was an email.
[Ms. Allegra Wipere, by unanimous decision of the Jewelry Design Association Board, you have been permanently removed from the association's membership roster and will be publicly notified across the industry. Effective immediately, you are barred from participating in any exhibitions, competitions, or exchange events related to the association.]
Industry-wide blacklisting.
She hurled her phone onto the bed. The screen shattered, cracks spreading out like a spiderweb. She didn't even glance at it.
She hugged her knees, sitting in the corner of the bed. Her shoulders heaved violently. A broken sob tore from her throat.
"Lucinda… Lucinda…"
She repeated the name over and over. Each time she said it, her nails dug deeper into her palms. The pain made her entire arm tremble, but it was nothing compared to the hatred in her chest.
She lifted her head, opening her eyes in the darkness. Her pupils churned with a thick, suffocating hatred.
It was all her.
All Lucinda's fault.
One day, she would take back everything that belonged to her.