“Remember, our endgame is to oust her from the company,” Rosie’s voice asserted, a touch of deliberation in her tone.

Emerie hesitated, her voice edged with caution.

“But she’s the president’s wife, and her connections run deep. I’m a bit wary of ruffling her husband’s feathers.”

“What difference does it make that she carries the title of the president’s wife? Let’s contrive a strategy to divest her of that role. How does that strike you?”

Rosie proposed, the gears of her contemplation having spun for a while now.

The title president’s wife was a mantle that both vexed and scared her.

If only she could rupture the bond between Millie and Marcus, everything would fall into place seamlessly.

Was Rosie delving into the realm of

“Rosie, are you suggesting…?”

by primal urges; women, by intuition and skepticism. No matter how strong a rapport seems, if the foundation of matrimony cracks,

as arrogant as

gut churned; she had a premonition of

for his indifference to dalliances. In the company all women’s eyes

Emerie retorted.

no man

implying you’ll

gaze skimmed over Rosie’s figure—a woman who put effort into preserving her appearance, but

glance met Emerie’s inquiry, and

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