"Linda, you can't just throw accusations around," Vardy snapped, his voice laced with frustration.
"Yeah, we're all legitimate business people here," he added, trying to keep his tone respectful.
Linda raised an eyebrow, her expression calm as she replied, "I can't speak for the rest of you, but I have a feeling Barlor might find this conversation interesting."
Vardy narrowed his eyes. "You're playing dirty, Linda."
She kept her gaze steady on Fern as she continued, "Let me cut to the chase. I need to borrow eight billion dollars. I'll pay it back, with interest, in three years."
Vardy's eyes widened in disbelief. "Eight billion? Do you have any idea how much interest that'll accrue? And what if you can't pay it back? You're married to Mr. Wayne—how are we supposed to handle that?"
"I know what I'm asking for," Linda said, her voice firm. "And I'm willing to sign over the Autumn' shares and properties as collateral. If I can't repay the loan, I'll work for you, no questions asked."
She hesitated briefly before adding, "Besides, my marriage to Barlor probably won't last three more years. Even if it does, he won't stand by me."
Fern, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. "I'll lend you the money."
Vardy's jaw dropped. "Are you out of your mind? That's eight billion dollars we're talking about!"
Fern ignored his outburst and addressed Linda, "I'll have the funds transferred to you. We can finalize the contract later."
Linda stood up, nodding. "Thank you, Mr. Lane. I'll be waiting for your message."
She turned on her heel and left the office, a small smirk on her lips.
As soon as she was gone, Vardy rounded on Fern. "She's Barlor's wife, Fern! Why on earth would you lend her that kind of money?"
Fern's smirk mirrored Linda's as he replied, "Because she's interesting."
Vardy groaned, "And I'm the one who has to foot the bill for your whims?"
Fern placed a bank card against Vardy's chest. "Consider it a wedding gift for the woman I have my eye on."
Vardy sputtered, "Wedding gift? She's married to Barlor!"
But Fern had already walked out, leaving Vardy to grumble in disbelief, "They're both out of their minds."
Back at the Wayne residence, Linda walked into the living room, surprised to see Barlor sitting there. She barely glanced at him before heading toward the stairs.
"Linda," Barlor called out, his voice cold.
She paused, turning back to face him. "What do you want?"
Barlor's tone was impatient. "The auction house is asking for payment."
"I know."
He sighed, as if trying to be reasonable. "If you don't have enough, you could have just asked me."
Linda shook her head. "I've already taken care of it."
"Where did you get the money from?" Barlor asked, suspicion evident in his voice. "Ten billion dollars isn't something you just pull out of thin air."
"That's none of your concern."
Barlor's frustration grew. "Linda, I'm your husband."
A bitter smile played on Linda's lips. "Since when did that matter to you? You're only worried that my actions might harm the Wayne family."
Barlor said nothing, confirming her suspicions.
"Don't worry," Linda continued. "I know our marriage is just a business arrangement. We succeed together or fail together. And for the record, you don't need to come home so often."
Barlor felt a pang of guilt, realizing he had taken her for granted. Before he could respond, Linda's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and saw a notification for an incoming transfer—eight billion dollars, right on time.
A satisfied smile spread across her face.
Barlor noticed her expression and felt a twinge of something unfamiliar. Regret, perhaps? He suddenly remembered how Linda used to look at him with that same smile, but back then, he had never cared.
"We're attending a banquet tonight," Barlor said abruptly. "You'll accompany me."
Linda stopped in her tracks, surprised. "Me? Why not take Viole?"
Barlor's voice was firm. "You're Mrs. Wayne. It's your place to be there."
Linda didn't buy his reasoning, but she saw an opportunity. "Fine. I'll go get ready."
As she walked upstairs, Barlor sighed in relief, grateful she hadn't completely distanced herself yet.
Meanwhile, in her dorm room, Viole was trying on a dress Larry had delivered. Her roommates admired it, commenting on how lucky she was to have such a generous boyfriend.
"Mr. Wayne will be accompanied by his wife tonight, Ms. Stale. You don't need to attend," Larry informed Viole over the phone.
"Oh, that's wonderful," Viole forced a smile, trying to mask her disappointment. "I wasn't that interested in going anyway."
Larry responded with a simple "Good," before hanging up, leaving Viole staring at her phone, biting her lip in frustration.
Behind her, her roommates exchanged knowing glances. One of them asked, "Viole, did your boyfriend just cancel on you?"
Another chimed in, "Isn't tonight a major international banquet? I thought you said your boyfriend organized it to introduce you to some key foreign investors."
Viole forced another smile and said, "He has an important client to attend to. It's best I don't cause him any unnecessary trouble."
As she looked down at the elegant dress in her hands, a wave of sadness washed over her. Barlor had always seemed indifferent to Linda—so why was he suddenly taking her to such an important event?
Her fingers clenched around the fabric of her dress, her determination hardening. She had been eagerly awaiting this night for weeks; she wasn't about to let it slip through her fingers.
That evening, Barlor sent Larry to deliver a stunning black gown to Linda. When she descended the stairs, wearing it with grace and confidence, Barlor, waiting in the foyer, couldn't help but stare. Despite having seen her in other dresses before, this one made him pause, struck by her beauty.
"I'm ready," Linda said as she reached the bottom step, her eyes meeting his.
Barlor quickly regained his composure. "I'll tell Larry to bring the car around."
Ignoring him, Linda stepped outside, finding Larry already waiting. He was momentarily taken aback by how radiant she looked in the gown. "Madam, you look stunning—much more so than Ms. Stale ever did."
Barlor shot Larry a sharp look at the mention of Viole's name, and Larry quickly realized his mistake, falling silent.
Linda, unbothered, simply nodded. "Thank you."
Once Linda was seated in the car, Barlor leaned in toward Larry, his voice low and warning. "You're not getting paid this month."
Larry felt a pang of regret but wisely kept his mouth shut, knowing he had crossed a line.
Outside the grand clubhouse, Barlor helped Linda out of the car. Their arrival together immediately drew attention. Murmurs spread through the crowd as they made their way inside.
"Is that Mrs. Wayne?"
"I've never seen them attend an event together before. They make a striking couple."
Barlor took Linda's hand naturally, and though she initially intended to pull away, the prying eyes around them made her hesitate. Reluctantly, she let him lead her.
As they entered, Linda scanned the room, recognizing many influential faces from her past life. The event was a gathering of elite entrepreneurs, philanthropists, and real estate moguls. It was exactly the kind of crowd Barlor had always thrived in. Linda had spent years learning about finance to impress him, but it had all been in vain.
Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering silenced the room. A gardener had accidentally knocked over a vase of roses. The clubhouse manager rushed over, berating the old man. "You fool! Do you know what you've done? Get out of here!"
"Wait," Linda intervened, stepping forward. She picked up one of the roses from the ground, noticing the carefully removed thorns and the rare variety. "These roses were specially brought by Mr. Lane Senior, weren't they? It would be a waste to leave them as mere decorations. Why don't we hand them out to the ladies here, so they can appreciate the gesture?"
The crowd's murmurs grew in intensity, a low hum of discontent that rippled through the room, punctuated by occasional nods of agreement. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the eyes of the assembled guests flickering between each other and the manager, who was visibly reluctant to give in to their demands. His jaw tightened, and his posture stiffened, betraying his displeasure as he begrudgingly signaled for the gardener to distribute the flowers. The gardener, a wiry man with sun-weathered skin, hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the baskets of flowers. The crowd watched intently, the tension in the room palpable as the flowers began to change hands, each guest accepting their bloom with a mix of satisfaction and silent judgment.
Barlor leaned in close to Linda, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered with a teasing smile, "I didn't expect you to be so charming." His words were laced with genuine surprise, mingled with admiration. He had seen Linda navigate countless social situations, but there was something about the way she handled this one that caught him off guard. The ease with which she commanded the room, the subtle way she influenced the crowd, it was all more impressive than he had anticipated.
Linda offered a light shrug, her expression calm and composed as she replied, "I'm just trying to keep Mr. Lane Senior happy." Her voice was soft, almost nonchalant, but there was a glimmer of something more in her eyes—perhaps a hint of amusement or the satisfaction of having succeeded in her subtle manipulation. She knew the power dynamics at play and had deftly maneuvered through them, not for her own gain but to maintain the delicate balance that kept everything running smoothly. She allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction before her gaze returned to the flowers being handed out, her thoughts already moving on to the next step.
Meanwhile, outside the grand and ornately decorated clubhouse, Viole stepped out of the taxi, the night air cool against her skin as she carefully adjusted the hem of her sleek black gown. The dress clung to her figure, elegant yet understated, and as she smoothed the fabric, she became acutely aware of the curious stares from passersby. Their eyes lingered on her, some with admiration, others with speculation, but she paid them no mind. Her focus was solely on the entrance ahead, the large double doors that stood as the barrier between her and the event inside. With a deep breath, she straightened her posture, lifted her chin, and walked forward with a determined stride, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement.
As she approached the entrance, the security guard stationed at the door, a burly man with a no-nonsense demeanor, eyed her suspiciously. His gaze flickered from Viole's elegantly attired figure to the taxi that was now pulling away from the curb. The skepticism in his eyes was clear as he stepped forward to block her path. "Miss, do you have an invitation?" he asked, his tone polite but firm, laced with an underlying hint of doubt.
Viole hesitated, her mind racing. In all the times she had accompanied Barlor to events like this, she had never needed an invitation. She had always been welcomed without question, her presence assumed and accepted. But tonight was different, and the guard's unwavering stare made her acutely aware of that difference. "I'm here to see Mr. Wayne—Barlor Wayne," she explained, her voice steady despite the unease that was beginning to creep in. "I'm his partner."
The guard's expression remained impassive, but the skepticism in his eyes only deepened. His brows furrowed as he glanced back at the door, then returned his gaze to Viole, clearly unimpressed by her explanation. "Mr. Wayne and his wife are already inside," he stated, the emphasis on the word 'wife' not lost on her. "And you are?"
Feeling the weight of the onlookers' gazes pressing down on her, Viole's face flushed with embarrassment, a wave of heat rising from her neck to her cheeks. She opened her mouth to respond, to try and explain further, but the words seemed to stick in her throat.
Just as the tension reached a breaking point, Larry, one of the event organizers, appeared at the door, his sharp eyes taking in the situation instantly. Recognizing Viole, he quickly intervened, his tone smooth and reassuring as he addressed the guard. "Sorry for the confusion," he said with a slight nod.
"She's an employee of our company." His words were spoken with authority, leaving no room for further questioning, and with a gesture, he ushered for Viole to come inside.
The guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing Viole to enter. Once inside, Larry turned to her, his tone serious. "Ms. Stale, why are you here?"
"I just wanted to broaden my horizons," Viole explained quickly. "Mr. Wayne always says I'm too timid. I'll be going abroad soon, and I wanted to gain some experience before I leave. Please, Larry, help me get in."
Larry hesitated, but Viole's sincerity won him over. "Alright," he relented.
Viole smiled, relieved. "Thank you. I just want to make sure everything goes smoothly tonight, especially with Mrs. Wayne being here. She spent ten billion dollars on that piece of land recently—she could use some help navigating these circles."
Larry nodded, leading her inside. Viole's heart raced as she spotted Barlor deep in conversation with a group of foreign investors. Gathering her courage, she lifted the hem of her dress and started toward him, but her path was suddenly blocked by an elderly man carrying a large vase. They collided, the vase tipping and spilling water all over Viole's gown.
Outraged, Viole looked down at the wet fabric, her anger flaring. "What is wrong with you? Watch where you're going!" she snapped at the gardener, her voice sharp and filled with frustration.