Remington's face turned icy in an instant. With a furrowed brow and sharp eyes, he commanded sternly.

"Get out!"

Stella's face drained of color, her eyes reddening with the sting of humiliation.

"I-I'm sorry, I'll leave now, oh!"

As she turned, her movements were frantic and clumsy, causing her to bump her head against the doorframe.

The documents she was carrying scattered across the floor. She immediately knelt down to pick them up, tears streaming down her face.

Lizetta, of course, could hear Stella's distinctive voice over the phone.

At that moment, she recalled their encounter at the airport, where Stella mentioned she had been working closely with Remington at the Starlight Group for the past two months.

It dawned on Lizetta that Stella had been positioned by Remington's side in the company.

the past, to foster a closer relationship between them, Fiona had arranged for Lizetta to work as a junior clerk at the Starlight

at the company, his displeasure was evident. Later,

the family matriarch, Lizetta would have been promptly expelled from

who hadn't pursued further education over the years, was now working in the president's office at the Starlight Group. It was clear who had arranged

that she hadn't fallen for Remington's smooth talk and

scoffed, "It seems Mr. Dashiell is too busy to

vein throbbed on Remington's forehead, but before he could explain, Lizetta had already hung up. Stella, crying while gathering her documents, sported a noticeable bump on her forehead from the collision, looking pitiful. She hoped Remington would come over to assist her, providing an opportunity to speak well of the West family once more. Despite lacking concrete proof, she couldn't believe Remington would be entirely indifferent to past

he remained seated behind his desk, showing no intention of helping, his gaze cold and oppressive, making Stella's heart race. Ultimately, Stella dared not do anything further. She collected the documents,

at the old

was doomed, wanted to storm the Starlight Group wielding a metaphorical broadsword in her

head upstairs, Mr. Barlow caught up to her, saying, "Ma'am, Mr. Dashiell just called. He said you can

proper home. If you agree, I'll amend the

"I agree."

tired of dealing with

hurriedly

a lawyer, he had never seen a divorce where the husband struggled

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