Chapter 32
"Where are you?" Benjamin's usual low, indifferent voice came through the phone.
"StoryArc Media."
"Last night's matter, is it resolved?" He was naturally asking about Michael's harassment.
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Wilson."
There was a moment of silence on the other end, then he threw out a question I hadn't expected: "When would be convenient for you to come to my place?"
I froze for a moment, not understanding why he was suddenly asking this.
Seeming to sense my confusion, Benjamin explained unhurriedly, "The engagement is coming up soon. Some procedures require both families to meet and discuss. My parents are abroad, but my grandfather is still in the country. I want to give you a complete process."
His tone sounded like he was arranging a business project—calm, rational, and organized.
Yet "a complete process" somehow made my heart skip a beat.
Between him and me, this was supposed to be a pure transaction, yet he seemed to want to add something called "respect" to this deal.
I pushed down that strange feeling and quickly made a decision.
"Alright," I answered straightforwardly, "You can arrange the time."I hung up.
"Meeting the family" circled through my mind before I pushed it aside.
Compared to dealing with Benjamin's grandfather, I had more important things to do right now.
After work, I went straight back to the White Mansion.
Preston was there as expected, sitting on the living room sofa with a dark expression, watching the financial news.
Amelia sat beside him, attentively refilling his tea while casually mentioning, "Dad, don't be too angry. StoryArc Media's poor performance isn't just a recent thing. Ophelia is new after all. You put so much pressure on her—understandably, she can't deliver."
Every sentence seemed to "defend" me, but was actually reminding Preston how overambitious my hundred-million bet was.
I couldn't be bothered with her words and went straight upstairs to my long-uninhabited room.
As soon as I closed the door, my encrypted phone vibrated—a new email.
The sender was the "friend" I had planted near Michael.
The content was brief: "Target's cash flow is cut off, new energy project completely locked up, currently desperately seeking new investment, robbing Peter to pay Paul."
Looking at the message on the screen, a cold smile slowly curved my lips.
Step one, complete.
I opened my laptop, my fingers flying across the keyboard as a brand new investment proposal quickly took shape.
This was a carefully packaged shell project, flying the banner of the hottest trend—"metaverse social e-commerce"—using all kinds of fancy words and fake data to paint a low-risk, high-return business blueprint.
This project was like poison coated in honey, specially designed for gamblers like Michael who had lost everything and were desperate for a quick comeback.
After finishing everything, I "leaked" the proposal through an anonymous channel without leaving a trace.
The bait was cast. Now, I just needed to wait quietly for that starving fish to bite.
Over the next two days, StoryArc Media was calm.
Amelia probably felt victory was assured, so she lost much of her interest in troubling me. She only occasionally glanced at me with that look you'd give a dead person, as if counting down the days until I'd be kicked out of StoryArc Media.
I was happy for the peace. I followed up on Aurora Studio's projects while using Violet's connections to get in touch with her influential friend in the industry, laying the groundwork for my own brand.
Everything was proceeding according to plan.
On the third evening, I was in my room reviewing an investment contract sent by Benjamin's lawyer when suddenly there was a commotion downstairs. I frowned as a servant came up to knock on my door, sounding somewhat awkward, "Ms. Ophelia White, Mr. Johnson is here and insists on seeing you. Mr. White wants you to come down."
Michael?
I sneered inwardly. He came after all, even faster than I'd expected.
I closed my laptop, unhurriedly straightened my clothes, then slowly walked downstairs.
In the living room, the atmosphere was strange.
Preston and Amelia were both sitting on the sofa, looking at the man standing in the center of the living room with complicated expressions.
That man was Michael.
After just a few days, he seemed like a different person.
The once high-spirited, arrogant Michael now looked utterly disheveled.
His expensive suit was wrinkled, his hair messy, blue stubble sprouting on his chin, his eyes were bloodshot, and his whole being radiated the dejection of someone at the end of their rope.
When he saw me, his eyes instantly lit up, like he'd spotted a lifeline.
He rushed toward me in a few steps and, before I could react, grabbed my hand. His palm was covered in cold sweat, his grip surprisingly strong.
"Ophelia!" His voice was hoarse, full of suppressed urgency.
I pulled my hand away, stepped back to create distance, my tone as cold as if I were looking at a stranger, "Mr. Johnson, we have nothing to do with each other anymore. What are you doing here?"
My coldness seemed to hurt him, but there was no anger on his face. Instead, he forced out a smile uglier than crying, his posture extremely humble, "Ophelia, I know it was all my fault before. I was an asshole, and I was confused. Give me one more chance, okay?"
His humble appearance left even Amelia stunned.
I watched him quietly, watching this man who had pushed me into hell now using his best performance to try to win my sympathy again.
"Michael," I spoke softly, my voice without a ripple, "are you short on money again?"
I cut straight through his fake repentance.
Michael's face instantly turned pale. He opened his mouth as if to refute, but finally hung his head in defeat, admitting it.
"Ophelia, that project of mine... ran into some problems," he began with difficulty, his eyes evasive, "but I recently saw a new opportunity, lower risk, higher returns! If we can seize it, we'll bounce back quickly! When that happens, I'll definitely..."
"So you want me to help you invest in this 'new opportunity'?" I interrupted him, stating his ultimate purpose.
He jerked his head up, hope rekindling in his eyes, nodding vigorously, "Yes! Ophelia, only you can help me! I know you understand me best, and only you would support me unconditionally! Let's start over, come back to me, and we'll be like before, okay?"
He looked at me, his gaze earnest, his tone so humble it was in the dust, as if I were the only light in his life.
"As long as you're willing to come back and help me," seeing my continued silence, as if making some kind of decision, right in front of Preston and Amelia, his knees buckled, and he knelt straight down before me.
"Ophelia, I'm begging you."