Chapter 66
No.1
"Lord Alex has such broad horizons. Everything seems remarkable to him."
Alexander's eyes darkened. Barely gone for any time, yet her tongue had grown sharper—wild and untamed!
He opened his mouth to retaliate—
"Miss Sinclair, careful..." Nathan Carter hurried forward, placing the remaining drinks in her trunk with meticulous care. "This way they won't spill."
Lord Alex had left the hospital against medical advice. His private physician had been chasing him to the office daily for IV drips.
Yet he skipped meals and ignored medication schedules.
If Evelyn provoked him further...
No.2
Nathan valued his current position too much to risk losing it over avoidable conflicts.
"Thanks." Evelyn nodded at Nathan—not for handling her drinks, but for defusing the tension.
One fool like Ethan Miller around Alexander was enough.
"Miss Sinclair, you're always welcome at Kingsley Group. The 'Sinclair' in our name still represents your home." Nathan smiled warmly, a stark contrast to his aggressive negotiation tactics at Horizon Media.
Evelyn didn't respond, turning to enter her car.
Home?
How poetic.
No.3
After all these years, who in Kingsbury remembered the meaning behind that "Sinclair"? Who even knew Kingsley Group's full history?
Her home had vanished long ago.
Neither Kingsley Group nor the Kingsley family would ever welcome her back.
......
"Melissa! Melissa!" Someone called out as Melissa Lee passed Evelyn's workstation.
They pointed at her legs. "Your stockings..."
"Oh!" Melissa looked down. "My cat got playful again..."
No.4
She turned to Evelyn. "Drop whatever you're doing and buy me new stockings."
Evelyn lifted her gaze, silent.
Melissa smirked. "I know you're frugal. I'll deduct one article from your workload."
Since the bubble tea incident, colleagues had increased their demands on Evelyn.
They always offered to "reduce her assignments" in exchange.
Yet her daily proofreading pile had swollen beyond reason—a deceptive burden disguised as relief.
Between errands and late-night proofreading marathons, Evelyn worked herself ragged with nothing to show.
No.5
Her performance metrics reflected empty numbers.
"No. Ask someone else." Her tone remained flat.
"Come on," Melissa said with unusual patience. "Everyone else has more important tasks. It's just across the street."
She straightened, looking down at Evelyn. "Don't be difficult. No one here will indulge your whims."
Evelyn locked her computer and stood calmly. "Wait here."
Rank pulled weight, and Melissa outclassed her by two levels—not to mention being a shareholder's daughter.
Thirty minutes later, Evelyn returned with stockings.
No.6
Melissa frowned. "This brand? I never wear this."
Evelyn: "Didn't see others. Make do."
Her casual tone drew stares.
Who in Finance didn't grovel for Melissa's favor? Only Evelyn bargained and delivered half-hearted results.
Clearly riding high on the Crown Prince's indulgence.
"Evelyn, Melissa asking you is an honor," a colleague interjected. "Any of us would gladly go."
Evelyn tossed the stockings onto their desk. "Then you do it."
No.7
Rarely angry, yet her calmest words carried the heaviest weight.
Though Finance scorned her, veteran journalists recognized her natural interviewing talent—stoic expressions, sharp rhetoric, masterful topic steering.
Such potential would normally attract mentorship.
But for Evelyn, whose beauty allegedly paved her way? No one wanted her to succeed.
"Evelyn, go again." Melissa's voice carried from her office. "I only wear one brand—others cause allergies. Finish what you start. If you can't handle stockings, how can we trust you with real work?"
So righteous.
Evelyn picked up the stockings. "Fine. These can't be returned. Since you didn't specify, transfer the money first."