Bride Behind The Mask (Frederick and Marguerite)

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“Yuna is getting hitched, but what’s that got to do with me? Do I even share any mutual friends with Yuna?” Marguerite pondered, then a thought

struck her.

Could Yuna’s fiancé be Hanley? That greasy, pudgy guy! You gotta admit, Yuna and Hanley are a match made in heaven. They are both trash!

At that thought, Marguerite chuckled softly, looking at Yuna with amusement, “Sorry, I got zero interest in your love life.”

Yuna had put in so much effort to get a rise out of Marguerite, but Marguerite wasn’t taking the bait. It was like Yuna was shooting herself in the foot. She ground her teeth in frustration, nearly bursting with anger, “Marguerite, let me tell you, my husband is…”

“Yuna!” Marguerite cut her off sharply, “You’re engaged, not married. You sure the end game will play out like you planned?”

Yuna was left speechless, her mind a blank canvas.

“If I were you, I’d stick with him till the end. Not like you, flaunting around before anything’s set in stone. If things don’t work out, you will be embarrassing yourself.”

Yuna failed to achieve her goal, and her hatred for Marguerite grew. But she took Marguerite’s words to heart.

but something or someone had messed up the final step,

reached out to her. She didn’t have his

to get her dad to find out

threatened arrogantly, “Marguerite, this isn’t over. Just you wait. When I marry into a

wait,” Marguerite replied with a smirk. Her eyes filled

their cards. And to Marguerite, Yuna, who flaunted at

of the President of

chair, eyes half–closed, twirling a scent strip under

young man with delicate

and tossed it on the floor with a grunt,

car accident. He’d had numerous secret check–ups abroad, but no cause was found. His doctors suggested it

music, and started probing Frederick, “Have there been any recent events that have stuck with you? If you think about it, you might realize that you could actually smell something during

closed his eyes, thinking back on recent events. He remembered a ridiculous night where he seemed to have caught a faint scent. It was a subtle fragrance that was easy to miss, but thinking back, that scent seemed to linger at the tip of his

“I think…”

was cut off as someone knocked on the glass door, interrupting his therapy session. He immediately opened his eyes, his previously calm face reverting to

Chuck, walked in, followed by another assistant carrying a tray of

large–scale perfume design competition. The perfumes on the

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