NovelEnglishOnce Marcus’ mind was set, Celeste realized she couldn’t sway him.
Meanwhile, Millie returned to the company and settled into her seat. Soon, a murmur reached her ears.
“Isn’t it against the rules to leave during work hours? Even if one does, they’re expected to inform the team leader.”
Millie directed her gaze toward the individual conversing with Emerie.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtEmerie’s retort dripped with venom.
“Indeed, in her eyes, I hold no status as a team leader. She’s free to cand go as she pleases, answerable to no one. Endowed with the prestigious title of the president’s wife, she could slumber at her desk, and we’d still be powerless.”
“You’re absolutely right. She likely believes we’re unworthy of sharing office space with her. A client berates her, and she still has the audacity to wander. Were I in her shoes, I’d be racing to rectify the situation.”
Millie rubbed her temples, her gaze turning sharp.
“Leaving the office warrants reporting to the team leader; of course I’m aware. Yet, I’m not officially assigned to any team. Who can validate that I belong to group three? Furthermore, everyone is cognizant of the reason why the client was angry. The culprit even lacks any sense of shame, a sentiment I share for her.”
While Millie acknowledged the impropriety of her abrupt departure, she found it intolerable to endure the situation as it was.
Emerie’s frustration flared, prompting her to rise abruptly, yet she curbed her impulse to confront Millie directly.
In response, the office occupants exchanged knowing glances.
With a detached expression, Millie grasped the pen, poised to resher design. Yet a parched throat nudged her attention to her now-empty cup. She moved toward the tea room to refill it.
Once Millie stepped out, Emerie’s countenance darkened, her palm smacking the table’s surface in frustration.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏm“Your fortune simply smiles upon you for marrying the CEO. If competence truly coursed through your veins, why linger in the design department? You’d be better suited as the president’s secretary.”
Emerie accessed her drawer, extracted a sachet, and approached Millie’s workstation, feigning an inspection of her designs.
Seizing her moment, she surreptitiously deposited the sachet into Millie’s drawer.
The sachet, containing an unusual blend of dried flowers, emanated a scent capable of inducing sickness and rashes upon prolonged exposure.
Millie’s aesthetic allure was undeniable. When rashes surfaced, her appeal would doubtlessly diminish in the eyes of men.
Emerie retreated to her seat, an air of calculated vindictiveness accompanying her.
Following Millie’s return, she plunged into her design revisions. A subtle floral aroma wafted through the air, but Millie attributed it to a neighbor’s perfume, dismissing the peculiarity.
Hours elapsed, and a sense of dizziness and nausea overcher. Abruptly, red bumps emerged on the back of her hand, a sight that jolted her.
Setting aside her pen, Millie hastened to the restroom. Gazing at her reflection, she was met with a startling realization—-red bumps’ had proliferated across her face and neck.
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