Chapter 216
Chapter 216:
Marc had built Walsh Group’s reputation on a foundation of secrets and shady shortcuts, and Stella now possessed the evidence to topple him.
If she chose to reveal what she knew, he wouldn’t last another day in Choria’s high society.
Whatever scheme Haley and Marc had planned for her at the engagement party, Stella was ready to strike back without hesitation. They were the ones who would stoop to anything to get what they wanted—she had nothing left to lose.
That morning, William sent her a text, checking what time she’d be heading out.
Haley’s engagement party was set for twelve-thirty, just in time for lunch.
By eleven-fifty, Stella had everything ready. She tucked the USB drive and a stack of printed documents into her backpack, drew in a steadying breath, and reached for the door.
The moment she opened the door, she heard footsteps across the corridor. William, sharp in a jet-black suit, appeared from his dorm. He offered a small, knowing smile. “Well, what a coincidence, huh?”
Was it really a coincidence?
Stella hesitated for a moment, suspecting William had timed his exit to match hers.
She intended to drive herself, but they ended up side by side in the elevator. William, a full head taller, studied her with mild amusement, catching the tense set of her jaw.
Was she feeling anxious?
He broke the silence with a sly grin. “What’s wrong? Afraid Marc’s going to drop Haley’s hand at the engagement party and pour his heart out to you in front of the whole crowd?”
His words blindsided her, the playful mockery lighting a spark of indignation.
She said, “If Marc actually had the nerve to ditch Haley at their own engagement party, I might even respect him for it.”
Marc, however, was far too calculating—always reading the room and protecting his own interests.
With Haley propping up the entire Walsh Group, there was no way he’d let her go, not even for a grand, romantic gesture.
William’s laughter echoed softly as his eyes flicked over her dress. “Is this your plan? Show up in that getup, blend in with the catering staff, and spike their champagne?”
Stella shot him an exasperated look, suppressing a smirk. “Mr. Briggs, if you don’t have anything helpful to say, maybe keep it to yourself.” She glanced down, baffled by his remark—her dress looked perfectly fine to her. Since when did plain black clothes make her look like a waitress?
“If you’re going to show up, you should look your best,” William said plainly. “Otherwise, you’re just handing them something to laugh about. Or do you want Marc thinking you’ve fallen apart without him?”
Stella hadn’t even thought about that.
To her, this was just another pointless event—she had no intention of dressing up for people she didn’t care about.
.
.
.