Chapter 58: Challenging
Though I had suspected from the start that Fletcher might have arranged things this way, hearing him admit it out loud still felt like a dagger plunging into my heart. The pain was unbearable.
He was so sharp, so perceptive. If Kaitlyn could figure it out, Fletcher certainly could too. But still, he let Davina take control of the project, allowing her to hold the reins -far beyond just gilding her image at our company. He didn’t just want to give her a taste; he was determined to give her everything.
It took me a while to regain my composure, and I spoke, my voice colder than I intended, “Mr. Lynton, this isn’t what we discussed
earlier.”
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Chapter 58 Challenging
45 Points
“Is it not?” Fletcher broke his gaze and casually replied, “From the start, I never promised to bring Ms. Grande along, did I?”
That was true. He never promised, not even when Gary praised my video production in front of the three of us. But at the end of the day, it was still Fletcher’s influence that mattered more.
He treated Davina like a prized bougainvillea in his garden, tending to her personally- pruning and watering–while I was nothing more than an unwilling gardener, dragged along to help him nurture the plant.
Insignificant.
Used and discarded.
Who would care about the gardener’s
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Chapter 58: Challenging
5 Points.
feelings?
I let out a mocking laugh. “Mr. Lynton, the project lead will only be me.”
At my words, Fletcher’s hand holding the pen froze. He slowly lifted his head, his eyes -deep and unfathomable–locked onto my face. “What do you mean, Ms. Grande?”
I was blunt. “The contract with Free Spirit hasn’t been signed yet, Mr. Lynton. Let’s see who earns it.”
My guiding principle was never to give up until the last moment.
Fletcher seemed amused, like he had just heard an absurd joke. He let out a quiet chuckle, then reclined in his chair, his tone lazy. “You really think you have a chance?”
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Chapter 58 Challenging
“Whether I do or not, I’ll have to try,” I replied, my resolve strong.
Fletcher didn’t respond immediately. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again, his voice almost like a soft taunt. “Charlene, you really haven’t changed at all.”
I knew he was mocking me.
It wasn’t just about Free Spirit–he’d already gained the upper hand there. Even my desire to compete with Fletcher felt like an exercise in futility. After all, with the power and resources of Lynton Group, right now, Kaitlyn and I were like ants trying to shake a tree.
But so what? Fletcher had started this game by playing dirty. We wouldn’t just keep tolerating it.
By the time I left Lynton Group, it was
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already afternoon. The warm, sunny weather had suddenly turned, and the cold, biting
wind cut through me.
As the wind blew, it felt like ice piercing through my skin, making me shiver uncontrollably.
Only then did I realize, during my
conversation with Fletcher, I had broken into
a cold sweat.
Now my mind was finally clearing up.
I hadn’t expected that the person who used to always obey Fletcher’s every word would today actually have the nerve to challenge him.
It was a reckless move.
It was easy to make bold statements, but
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to follow through was a different matter entirely, nearly impossible.
Especially when we knew so little about Free Spirit.
I set my sights on the private art exhibition.
But such exhibitions were typically a form of high–society internal networking–small in scale but highly private. Their purpose was to foster connections, and breaking into this circle would be tough.
I could only hope for Kaitlyn’s help.
After a night of digging, Kaitlyn had news- this afternoon, two private art exhibitions were taking place in Myslana. One in the southern district was an open exhibition, while the other, held at Starlight Art Gallery in the western district, was strictly private and
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not open to the public.
Kaitlyn also explained that Starlight Art Gallery was a privately established art gallery by a returning young artist, rarely open to the public. The gallery thrived on exclusivity and mystery.
“That sounds exactly like Free Spirit’s style,” I said, jotting down notes. “So how do we get in?”
“It’s difficult, Kaitlyn said, her face etched with concern. “The guests at these
exhibitions are either rich or famous, and they are very concerned about privacy. The security this afternoon will be thorough, so my usual tricks to sneak into events won’t work.”
I had never seen Kaitlyn so helpless before. In the past, whenever we wanted to attend
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a party or event, she’d always gather insider information–everything from the guest list to the food in the kitchen. We’d never encountered such a tricky situation before.
I reassured her, “Don’t worry. You focus on your work, and I’ll head over there early. Once I spot someone I know, I’ll figure out a way to get in.”
Kaitlyn was already overwhelmed with the publicity plan.
She nodded, “Keep in touch.”
With that, I set off on my own to Starlight Art Gallery.
However, since I wasn’t familiar with the area and the gallery was tucked away in a remote location, I ended up driving around for ages without finding it.
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In the past, Kaitlyn had always been the one handling navigation.
Helpless, I called her for help.
“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault,” she said, trying to comfort me. “That area’s full of twists and turns. But there’s another way. You can try this.”
Kaitlyn had asked me to park on the side of the road and observe the passing cars. If I noticed more than three low–key luxury cars heading in the same direction, it was highly likely that the art gallery was in that vicinity.
It made sense, so I was about to hang up the phone when suddenly, my body lurched forward, and I lost control of the car, crashing straight into the steering wheel.
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It hurt.
I had accidentally been rear–ended–a car that happened to be a striking navy–blue Porsche.
Fighting through the sharp pain in my wrist, I looked in the rearview mirror, feeling a wave of irritation rise in my chest.
This was exactly the kind of situation I hated -losing control when things were already hectic.
I sighed and pushed the door open, but as I looked up, my eyes immediately locked onto that familiar shade of silver–gray hair.
It was Bradley.
He was wearing his usual fire–red over–ear headphones, a vintage biker jacket, and
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matching casual jeans. His rebellious, carefree look was paired with an electrifying
energy
After a brief exchange of glances, he flashed a grin and said, “Charlene, is this the famous ‘fate brings us together from miles apart‘ kind of thing?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “What a coincidence.”
Just as I finished speaking, a sharp pain shot through my wrist, and I winced in discomfort.
“Did you get hurt?” Bradley, never one to miss a detail, took a couple of steps towards me, his face suddenly filled with concern. “Let me take you to the hospital.”
“It’s fine,” I replied, distracted by thoughts of
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Free Spirit, “but it you can, could you check out the car for me?”
Bradley’s face was one of confusion. “Charlene, is the car more important than you?”
“No, it’s just… I didn’t quite know how to explain, “I have something urgent to take care of.”
“Nothing’s more urgent than going to the hospital,” he said firmly. “The car can be left to the insurance company.”
With that, he gently placed his hands on my shoulders, as though he were worried I might hurt myself more.
I tried to move my wrist, and the pain immediately flared up, sending sharp waves of discomfort through my body.
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It seemed like a sprain.
“Well, that means we really need to go to the e hospital,” Bradley said with a furrowed brow, his voice urgent. “I’ll call a car.”
On one hand, there was the excruciating pain in my wrist, and on the other, the upcoming art exhibition. After a brief moment of deliberation, I rejected his suggestion.
“It’s just a small injury,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s nothing serious.”
Bradley, who had been rummaging in the car for my phone, paused, looked up at me with disbelief, and said, “Charlene, you really don’t take yourself seriously, do you? I’m not letting this go. You have to go to the hospital.”
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I pressed my fingers to my forehead, feeling a headache coming on.
The man may not be very old, but he was stubborn.
I was about to refuse again when something caught my eye–the golden, gilded invitation card resting on the passenger seat of Bradley’s car.
The cover boldly displayed the words “Starlight Art Gallery!”
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