Chapter 21
Laura's POV
The obvious slight made my stomach tighten. They'd sent only an assistant—not even their project manager—because Grace wasn't here. I forced a smile anyway, pushing the documents across the table.
"Grace has been taking some personal time off due to health issues," I said, my voice steady despite my inner discomfort. "This project will be under my full responsibility from now on."
Richard nodded beside me. "Harrison Group has a world-class perfume development team. Grace isn't our only talented employee."
The assistant merely smiled politely as she accepted the documents. Her eyes revealed nothing.
"I'll pass this along to Mr. Sterling for review," she said with practiced diplomacy. "Please wait here."
She left without offering coffee, water, or even the courtesy of small talk. The door clicked shut behind her with depressing finality.
They're not even trying to hide it. They don't want me. They want Grace.
Silence stretched between Richard and me. I watched the minutes tick by on my watch—five, then ten, then fifteen. My confidence began cracking like thin ice.
"What game are they playing?" I finally burst out. "Is Sterling's decision based on who's prettier?"
Richard's eyebrows shot up. "Laura—"
"I mean, what exactly makes Grace so special?" I continued, unable to stop. "Her so-called 'genius' formulas? I improved them. Made them better. More marketable."
"Grace has what they call a 'golden nose' in the industry," Richard explained quietly. "Every perfume she's overseen has had a market return rate of at least 200%. Clients trust her judgment."
The explanation only fueled my anger. "Sterling's a man, right? How many of these 'Grace-only' clients are men?" I laughed bitterly. "There are no eternally successful female perfumers in this world, Richard. Just male clients who get seduced."
Richard stared at me, his expression shifting from surprise to disappointment. "Laura, when did you become so bitter and unprofessional? This isn't like you."
The door opened before I could respond. The assistant returned, still carrying our documents. My stomach dropped as she placed them back on the table in front of me.
"Mr. Sterling asked me to relay his thanks for your effort," she said, her tone carefully measured. "However, Vanguard's brand identity requires a certain... soul that only Mrs. Harrison can provide. If she's unable to personally handle the project, we'll need to pause our collaboration."
My face burned. "I don't understand. What's wrong with my proposal? It's objectively better than Grace's original concept."
"Mr. Sterling is quite sentimental," the assistant said, her eyes cold. "He only recognizes Grace. Now if you'll excuse me, we have other appointments."
The rejection circulated through the company like wildfire. Walking back through the office, I could feel eyes on me, barely concealed whispers trailing in my wake. I heard someone murmur "sleeping her way up" and fought the urge to scream.
By the time I reached the office, rage boiled through me like acid. One of Grace's former assistants was hunched over a laptop, meticulously backing up original formula data. Grace's data. Of course.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I snapped.
The assistant jumped. "Just... preserving what Mrs. Harrison was—"
I didn't let her finish. With one sweeping motion, I sent her laptop crashing to the floor.
"Listen to me," I hissed as the office fell silent. "By nine tomorrow morning, I want every single perfume formula reworked. Everything. I want completely new concepts with no trace of Grace anywhere."
The assistant's face had gone pale. "But the client specifically asked for—"
"I don't give a shit what they asked for!" I screamed. "Anyone who keeps a single data point or base note from her formulas can pack their things and get the fuck out of Harrison Group! Do I make myself clear?"
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. I turned on my heel and stormed out, leaving destruction in my wake.
---
Grace's POV
I stared at the photo on my phone—shattered glass across the floor, overturned equipment, and terrified faces of my former team. The message underneath read: Grace, that woman has gone crazy destroying everything after being rejected by Vanguard. We can't work like this anymore.
I typed back: Take sick leave, all of you. I'll handle it.
Setting down my phone, I dialed another number—my private investigator. "The photos I asked you to take of Richard and Laura at the Harrison mansion? I need you to anonymously send them to Margaret. Make sure they clearly show their... intimacy."
After hanging up, I smiled. Margaret's obsession with family reputation would do the rest. The old battle-axe would tear into both of them.
My moment of satisfaction didn't last long. My assistant at Wilson Holdings returned empty-handed, unable to retrieve the data I'd requested.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Wilson. Mrs. Wilson has frozen your administrative access," she explained nervously. "She says you've just returned to the family and aren't quite ready for core company information yet."
So that's how it's going to be. My stepmother and stepbrother were trying to make me a Wilson in name only—all title, no power.
I was contemplating my next move when Andrew appeared at my temporary office door, his perfect suit and slicked-back hair radiating smug confidence.
"Little sister," he said with fake warmth, "I heard you were looking for more involvement in the company."
I didn't bother responding to his patronizing tone.
Andrew dropped a folder on my desk. "Since you're so eager to prove yourself, perhaps you'd like to handle this project? The board would certainly be impressed if you could salvage it."
I flipped through the pages—a failing venture labeled "commercial waste." The terms at the bottom were even more interesting:Family resources must not be utilized.
"Think you can handle it?" Andrew's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Or is business not really your thing after all?"
I turned to the partners page. One of the partner companies was Vanguard—the same company that had just rejected Laura.
"I accept," I said, closing the file. "But let's be clear—if I'm running this, it's completely mine. No interference from anyone, including you."
"Alright," Andrew agreed promptly.
"But how will you guarantee that if I independently secure the partnership, I'll get management authority?" I questioned.
"A vesting agreement. Since you're so confident about Vanguard." He produced a document, as if he had prepared it in advance.
I picked up the document, scanning its contents quickly while maintaining my composure. Inside, my heart was racing. The terms were brutal—if I couldn't secure Vanguard's cooperation within one week, I'd forfeit all my Wilson Group stock options and resign from the company.
But if I succeeded...I would gain management authority equal to Andrew's. A real foothold of power.
I took the agreement and signed without hesitation.
He smiled, as if his scheme had succeeded. "I should remind you that you only have one week."
"I'm more looking forward to the situation after I gain management authority, Andrew," I countered.
He gave a slight snort and turned to leave.