Chapter 167 Elijah’s eyes flickered, the glint of a memory stirring.

“Did you make that 22 million in your account from writing scripts?” he asked, his tone halfway between curiosity and disbelief.

Elizabeth responded with nothing more than a nonchalant hum, a sound so casual it bordered on dismissive.

The arrogant tone from an earlier voice message echoed in Elijah’s mind, his annoyance simmering beneath the surface.

A company producing over-the-top dramas seemed beneath contempt.

The fact that Elizabeth, being his wife, was reduced to being bossed around was a source of profound embarrassment for him.

His dissatisfaction etched itself across his features.

“Let’s be clear,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension, “Have I ever been stingy with money? Why degrade yourself by writing such trashy scripts?”

Fury erupted within Elizabeth.

Why was his profession deemed prestigious while hers was viewed as self-degradation?

retort sharp and unyielding, “Everything I write is my

understand,

the room wished they could vanish, their silence a testament to

paused, the room holding

he drawled,

you want to

hesitation betrayed an underlying fear

he offered an olive

a friend

payment will definitely surpass what

mind investing in a film

scripts’ quality was

their production as casually as he would purchase

could elaborate, his phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a

a beat before swiping

voice on the other end immediately spilled

was thinking—I need a few more scripts to keep

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