Chapter 0143
This time, his decision was firm and left no space for debate.
Violet felt the sting of his dismissal, painfully aware of her situation under his control. He owned her. This man was free to keep or dismiss her.
She silently exited the room.
The office was eerily quiet. Lucius was like a bomb that had amassed energy before exploding.
His rage continued to grow and become more violent. Eventually, he vented his frustration with a punch to the sofa.
Descending the stairs, Violet encountered Estelle, who was moving her things back in.
“This is strange,” she said. Her eyebrows lifted in amazement. “The president’s directive has been revoked. Violet, am I your manager again?”
Violet could not bring herself to smile on what should have been a pleasant occasion.
She was overcome with sadness as she recalled Lucius’s comments and his dictatorial
demeanor. She knew she had to move on, but his perpetual presence made it difficult for her to do
- 50.
“Violet?”
Emily’s voice came with a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes. She had clearly stopped crying after hearing the good news.
“You were upstairs?” Emily probed, “That’s where the president’s private area is, isn’t it? You didn’t go see him, did you?”
Violet’s shoulders sagged. She did not have the energy to respond to Emily.
“How old is the president? He’s quite old, right?”
“Can we not gossip about this?” Violet responded sharply.
“Sorry,” Emily said, her apology sounding half–hearted.
As Emily turned around, her face showed a hint of delight.
She had observed Violet’s frequent visits to the top floor and speculated about her involvement with the president.
+15 BONOS
Based on Violet’s current state, either the president was an older man whom Violet reluctantly endured, or Violet’s affections were unrequited. Emily surmised this much.
In either case, Emily relished the scenario.
Estelle’s attitude toward Violet had shifted, and she reassigned Violet her original duties.
Despite having work to focus on. Violet found no joy in it. She felt drained, struggling to generate any new ideas, and spent a long time lost in thought before letting out a sigh.
Violet realized she needed to stop thinking about Lucius. He would always be someone out of reach, someone who was far too different from her. Aside from that, that man was heartless.
Obsessing over him would just make her feel worse.
The best course of action was to concentrate on work.
She lowered her head and forced herself to focus on her task.
At 9 p.m., with the office empty. Violet lifted her head, releasing a soft breath. She had finished the draft of a design sketch and decided to call it a day.
Ready to leave, she stood up and grabbed her bag.
Her phone rang.
Violet was anticipating Naomi’s call, and she answered without looking, “Mama, I’m heading
home now.”
They had agreed to switch from “Mom” to “Mama,” considering that they were not biologically
related.
George’s deep voice sounded over the phone, stating, “It’s me, Ms. Violet,”
Violet paused momentarily.
“Master Lucius has injured his hand,” George stated, “Would you come by?”
Recalling a loud noise when she left earlier, Violet instantly became concerned. Was Lucius’s injury from something he had hit? Worry welled up inside her right away.
Yet she declined, “I’m sorry, I’ve finished work, and I’m already home. You should get him a doctor for his injuries.”
Violet felt hurt from Lucius’s prior harsh statements and did not want to disgrace herself any further after hanging up. She exited the building after convincing herself.
+15 BONOS
While on the bus, George texted her, “Ms. Violet, please visit him if you can. He’s still on the 25th
floor.”
She looked at the message briefly before deleting it.
Violet kept telling herself not to go to him, but she struggled with herself, his image growing
clearer in her mind.
Agitated, she punched the bus seat, startling the passenger in front.
“Sorry,” she muttered apologetically. She then impulsively got off the bus, unable to handle the scrutiny from onlookers.
The bus had only passed two stops.
She walked along the street, and her gaze was involuntarily drawn back to the distant, dimly lit high–rise.
The lights were mostly off, except for one on the top floor–possibly Lucius’s office.
His punch couldn’t really hav
been that bad, could it? It wouldn’t result in a major injury.
What if it does? What if, due to his poor clotting and stubbornness, he bled heavily and refused. medical attention? Could he die?
Her thoughts were jumbled, all centered on Lucius.
She boarded the next bus and exited through the back door hastily.
If she kept guessing all night, she would not be able to sleep. She decided to check on him and then leave quietly to get a good night’s sleep.
She hastened back–actually, she ran back–not recognizing her own speed.
When she returned to the office, she took the elevator to the 25th floor.
George stood there with his brow wrinkled.
