The calm before the storm was short-lived. By lunchtime the following day at the Harris Group, the trap was already set. In the design department, the office emptied out as employees headed for lunch, leaving Carla Smith alone at her desk.
"Assistant Smith, let's go eat," a coworker called out, waving.
Carla waved back absent-mindedly. "You all go ahead. I'll finish this up and join you later."
Once the room was silent, Carla's hand trembled as she checked her phone. "Today is the deadline," the message read. Below it was a long video file she didn't have the courage to open. Taking a shaky breath, she plugged a USB drive into the server. Her eyes darted toward the door, every second feeling like an eternity as the progress bar crawled across the screen.
Finally, the download finished. She yanked the drive out, shoved it into her bag, and hurried to the parking garage. She began typing a text: "Go to the old place. I have the things."
But as she reached for her car door, several men in black suits stepped from the shadows, surrounding her.
"Who are you?" Carla gasped, instinctively hiding her bag behind her back. Without a word, they restrained her and forced her into a waiting car.
An hour later, sitting in a cold interrogation room at the police station, Carla looked at the man across from her as if she were seeing a ghost.
"Did you... did you already know?"
Quentin sat with his legs crossed, his face an unreadable mask of ice. "If you know what's good for you, you'll tell me everything."
Carla closed her eyes and let out a bitter, hollow laugh. She realized then that the "trillion-dollar project" had been nothing more than a lure. "Did you really cast such a wide net just for me? To use a project like that just to catch a small fish?"
She stared at him, desperate for a flicker of emotion, but Quentin didn't even look at her. He merely checked his watch and stood up. "The police will take it from here," he said to the officer nearby. "I have more important business."
"Quentin!" Carla cried out, her handcuffs rattling against the metal table as she tried to lung forward. "I like you! I've liked you for a long time!"
Quentin paused at the door. He turned back, his gaze flat and indifferent. "That is your business, not mine. And for what it's worth... everything on that USB drive was fake."
He turned and walked away, leaving her sitting there like a hollow shell.
Once in the car, the cold businessman vanished. Quentin immediately pulled out his phone and searched for Amanda's name. A series of clips from her latest television interview appeared, and he clicked on them eagerly.
Because Jasper was still sidelined, Amanda was handling the promotion for Deep Friendship with the supporting cast. In the video, she looked breathtaking in a dark red dress, her hair flowing over her shoulders.
"Amanda," the MC said with a smile, "the fans all know you're a flower that's already been picked. But many wonder—you're so young. Do you ever feel like you missed out by marrying so early? Most people your age are still... well, playing the field."
Quentin watched her closely. On the screen, Amanda's smile only grew brighter. Without a hint of hesitation, she replied, "Not at all. Because I married the right person."
She gave a playful wink to the camera. "When you marry the right person, even when you're a hundred years old, you're still a baby in his eyes. So, sooner or later... it doesn't really matter, right?"
The MC laughed. "Suddenly, I feel very lonely in my single life!"
The video ended, but the smile on Quentin's lips remained. He hit replay, watching her wink over and over again.
Secretary James, sitting in the front seat, checked his notes after two tense phone calls. He glanced in the rearview mirror at his boss, who was currently smiling "stupidly" at a phone screen. James cleared his throat, hesitant to break the spell.
"President Harris? Carla and Clark have both confessed. It was Javier's masterplan from the start. However... the police missed him. He's escaped."
Quentin's expression didn't change; he had expected as much. He closed the video and dialed Derrick. "The rest is up to you," he said simply.
Derrick's colorful cursing was loud enough to fill the quiet car before he slammed the phone down. James swallowed hard. "Should we head to the meeting with Mr. Kent now, sir?"
Quentin looked out the window. "No. Go to the villa."
James sat up straight, thinking to himself: Of course. Wives always come before business partners in this house.
When the car reached the villa, Quentin went straight to the garden. He found her there, a vision in red amidst a sea of blooming flowers. Her skin looked like porcelain in the afternoon sun. He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and inhaling the scent of her hair.
"Mrs. Harris," he whispered. "Thank you for favoring your husband so publicly."
He had worried about their eleven-year age gap more than he let on. He worried she would wake up one day and feel she had rushed into a life that was too heavy for her. But her answer in that interview had swept every doubt away.
Amanda dropped a freshly picked flower into her basket and leaned back against him. "You saw the interview, then?"
He turned her around in his arms, bowing his head to kiss her cheek. "I saw it. And I promise you—when I'm a hundred, I will still be pampering you."
Amanda laughed, grabbing his tie and pulling him down to her level. "I'll be a hundred, but you'll be one hundred and eleven! Will you even have the strength to pamper me then, Mr. Harris?"
Quentin looked into her eyes with a frighteningly sincere devotion. "For you? If I don't have the strength to walk, I'll drag myself to you."
Amanda's laughter filled the garden as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, the storm of the Harris Group finally feeling like a world away.