Chapter 124
Frederick stared at her eyes, filled with desperate pleading. That inexplicable anger inside him flared up again.
Let her go? He'd spent five years watching, planning, maneuvering—all to finally bring her into his domain. And now she wanted him to give up because she "couldn't breathe"?
Frederick's expression darkened inch by inch. He reached out to grip Beatrice's chin, forcing her to look at him. "Look at me, Beatrice." His voice was low and raspy, dangerous.
In those bottomless eyes, Beatrice couldn't find even a trace of mercy—only storms brewing.
"Say that again?" His fingertips pressed harder. Beatrice winced in pain, her tears falling more freely.
"I... I..." The words she wanted to say caught in her throat.
"I'll give you one last chance to take back that nonsense you just said." His patience had clearly run out.
Beatrice looked at his cold face and felt her heart sinking deeper and deeper. How could she have forgotten? Frederick was never a saint. He was just... too good at pretending.
"What if I don't take it back?" she stubbornly asked.
The last hint of warmth in Frederick's eyes vanished completely. "Beatrice," he said her name. "Don't push me." He leaned down to her eye level, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. "Or do you think you're in any position to negotiate with me now?"
Beatrice's face went pale. Frederick straightened up, resuming his usual cold, dignified posture.
"Behave yourself. Be my wife properly, and don't let me hear such foolishness again." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Otherwise, I don't know what I might do."
The door closed with a decisive click. Beatrice's legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the cold floor. The pale moonlight from outside shone in, trapping her small figure in a bright yet lonely cage.
---
The next day, Beatrice forced herself to go to work with what little energy she had. With her approved proposal in hand, she knocked on the Marketing Director's door.
Beatrice suggested holding a small media salon before the product launch, inviting industry figures and fashion media to generate buzz for "Elysian." The Director enthusiastically approved the idea, and the funding request quickly landed on Frederick's desk. His approval came back with surprising speed.
Preparations began in full force. As the lead designer, Beatrice was involved in practically everything—from venue selection to guest lists to lighting and music. The event was scheduled for the following week at a rooftop terrace of an art hotel.
Beatrice arrived at the venue a day early to oversee the final setup.
"Ms. Jennings, please take a break. You've been standing for almost three hours," her assistant Susan brought over a chair. "You don't look well."
"I'm fine," Beatrice shook her head, her gaze sweeping across the venue, checking every detail.
Just then, the crisp sound of high heels approached. Ariana glided in wearing a perfectly tailored champagne-colored dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. She stopped in front of Beatrice, the picture of elegance. "Mr. Stuart was concerned about you handling this alone, so he sent me to help."
Beatrice glanced at her without comment.
Ariana wasn't bothered. She turned toward the display, genuinely admiring it. "Your design is so meticulous. Someone who creates such exquisite work must be incredibly thoughtful. Unlike me—I'm always so clumsy."
She shifted her tone to something more casual, as if making small talk. "Yesterday I accidentally spilled coffee and, in my panic, knocked Mr. Stuart's watch off the table." She wore an expression of lingering fear. "Liam said it was an antique, a keepsake from Mr. Stuart's mother—incredibly precious. I was terrified he would explode with anger."
Beatrice's breath caught in her throat.
"But," Ariana continued with a small smile playing on her lips, "Mr. Stuart only told me to 'be more careful next time.' Later, I heard from long-time employees that Mr. Stuart has always been forgiving toward people close to him."
His mother's keepsake. Especially forgiving. People close to him. These words pierced Beatrice's heart like tiny needles. The brightness in her eyes dimmed as unwelcome thoughts crept in. Frederick's leniency toward Ariana perhaps extended far beyond what was normal for an ordinary subordinate.
Ariana suddenly reached out with her slender fingers and shifted the angle of a necklace by a fraction. "I think it looks better slightly angled like this. The lighting will catch it better. Mr. Stuart has always been particular about details. He says beauty often lies in these tiny differences."
Every word implied she understood Frederick's standards better than Beatrice did. Susan frowned as she listened, wanting to say something but was stopped by a warning look from Beatrice.
Beatrice returned the necklace to its original position. Her tone was flat: "Ms. Keller, I'm the lead designer. Should we follow my direction on details, or yours? If we're following yours, perhaps you'd also like to handle tomorrow's media interviews?"
Ariana's smile froze momentarily before quickly recovering. "Mrs. Stuart, I'm joking. I know nothing about design. I just thought an extra pair of eyes might help lighten your load."
Beatrice ignored her and walked directly to the check-in table to review preparations. Ariana followed behind her like an inescapable shadow.
Looking at Beatrice's focused profile, a flash of resentment crossed Ariana's eyes before she adopted a casual tone again. "You know, several of today's invited guests are industry heavyweights."
She flipped through the guest list, perfectly manicured nail pointing to one name. "This editor from Fashion Jewelry is supposedly good friends with Lucius Jones. Mr. Jones is quite the rising star lately—I hear several established companies are trying to poach him."
She was certain Beatrice couldn't remain indifferent at the mention of that name. Sure enough, Beatrice stopped in her tracks. But instead of the expected panic, a faint smile curved her lips—so subtle it made Ariana's heart skip nervously.
"Ms. Keller, you're remarkably well-versed in industry gossip. Your regular work must not be keeping you busy enough."
Ariana's smile stiffened. "Mrs. Stuart, I was just—"
"I have an idea," Beatrice interrupted, her smile now tinged with mockery. "I happen to need a market research report. Since you have such extensive information channels, perhaps you could compile detailed data on all of Elysian's domestic competitors—including their flagship collections, pricing strategies, market share, and marketing activities over the past three years."
She paused, calmly observing Ariana's suddenly pale face before adding languidly: "Nothing too demanding—just have it in my inbox by 9 AM tomorrow. I'll mention this to Mr. Stuart. You'll be compensated for the overtime."
These words landed like a resounding slap, leaving Ariana dizzy. Beatrice was openly using her position as the boss's wife to target her! Ariana's fingers trembled with anger, but she didn't dare object.