Forbidden Passion

Chapter 157 Worried about Less than A Million Dollars, Mr. Reynolds?

At the International Finance Center, Phoebe and Cindy attended Hermès's tea soiree, an exclusive event for Kedora's high society ladies. The two sat in the back, watching the elegant sales associates present the latest collections. Cindy leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "Phoebe, have you been feeling off lately?"

Phoebe examined the new arrivals with a keen eye, jotting down the ones that caught her fancy in her little notebook. As she scribbled, she asked without looking up, "What's up? Something wrong?"

"You used to be such a workaholic, Phoebe," Cindy remarked. "I would go months without even catching a glimpse of you. Trying to grab lunch was like setting up a presidential meeting." Indeed, Phoebe's life had been a whirlwind of busyness.

But her preoccupations weren't solely with her career.

For a long while after losing her baby, Theodore held onto a grudge concerning the cause of the miscarriage. Anything remotely related to Edward triggered him, and his outbursts were not contained by time or place. During that dark period, Theodore's harsh treatments instilled a deep-seated fear in her. She sought solace in eluding him, yet couldn't afford to hide given their intertwined lives.

Later, Phoebe took to staying close, almost shadowing him in the hope that her presence would temper his fits of rage. However, it became painfully clear that Theodore was a capricious tyrant by nature. One moment he could be all smiles, and the next, for the most insignificant reason, he'd pin her down in the most bizarre places and have his way with her.

on vacation right now," she explained, as her mind

But aren't you the head honcho over at QUEEN Entertainment? Didn't your company just

afford it or not isn't my problem," Phoebe replied with a frown. "Can we not rain on my parade? I'm trying to enjoy my few

Cindy backed off, "Okay, okay, my bad.

into a subtle smile as she continued to browse

where a gaggle of high-society young women gossiped and blushed, their gazes fixated on the doorway as if a Hollywood heartthrob had just

dashing figure cutting through the crowd, his presence lighting up the room. He ignored the admiring and inquisitive

knew he was coming for

"Where are you going?"

over them, but Phoebe had no desire to be the center of attention. She turned to

who never indulged in airing dirty laundry in public, followed suit, especially since Phoebe had lately grown more defiant. A public spat was a stage neither could afford to fall from. Once outside, the August sun beat down mercilessly, adding to

donned a sharp suit,