Chapter 134
Chapter 134:
A girl in front of me was tilting her head back so hard her face was parallel with the ceiling.
“No, I’m not devastated. And yes, I’m married. Is that a problem?” I scanned Violet from head to heel. “You spotted it the second I put it on, huh? Looks like you’ve been watching me a bit too closely. Got a crush on me, maybe?” A few snickers rippled through the office.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she hissed. “And what a load of nonsense. You can’t really be married. Nobody’s heard a thing. And what about the wedding? Announcement in the papers? Or, what, did you elope p>
The last thought seemed to give her some satisfaction, as the smug smile returned to her face.
I held back a sigh. Ashton had been wrong; the ring didn’t save me any hassle—it caused more.
“Why can’t I be married? Just because every man you meet runs in the opposite direction doesn’t mean I have the same problem p>
“Fine. Who did you marry, then p>
“That is none of your business p>
Violet squinted at me. “Oh, I get it. You’re definitely hiding something. I bet your husband’s some nobody, some broke guy, and that’s why you didn’t have a wedding. Couldn’t afford it. Did you just pick up some random old man off the street p>
She sneered at the ring on my finger. “That ring doesn’t look like anything special. Where’d you get it, out of a cereal box p>
The office had gone quiet.
I didn’t notice until I realized how loud Violet’s laughter had gotten.
Every other sound—typing, chair scraping, mouse clicks—was gone. Even the copier seemed to have stopped mid-print.
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Violet was more oblivious than I was.
“What? Cat got your tongue? Can’t think of a plausible story now, can you?” I looked up at the sound of footsteps. More than one person. Coming from behind Violet. Getting closer.
Every head turned.
Two men emerged from the front entrance, followed by a handful of staff members.
I recognized Rexford Caldwell from his photo in the file. The big boss of Nyx Collective, the man who had never bothered to show his face in the office until now.
But it wasn’t Rexford who had everyone staring. That was Ashton, walking a step ahead of Rexford.
His face was inscrutable as usual, a neutral mask he wore for business, and his hands were stuck in his trouser pockets. Yet something told me he was not happy. He reminded me of Bernini’s David, right before he slung the fatal stone at Goliath.
Rexford cleared his throat and clapped his hands. “Hello, everyone! May I have your attention for a minute? Some of you know who I am. Rexford Caldwell, majority shareholder of Nyx Collective, this lovely studio you’re working in.” He paused, as if expecting applause.