Chapter 167

Morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Victor Lefèvre sat at the dining table, mechanically chewing his breakfast with a furrowed brow.

Stella Valentine placed a coffee cup gently before him, her gaze skimming over his stormy expression. Sophia Durand's infidelity still weighed heavily on his mind.

"Uncle," she began casually, "Aunt Sophia was crying hysterically last night."

"She dares to cry?!" Victor slammed his palm on the table, making the coffee slosh violently. "She's completely humiliated me!"

Stella lowered her lashes to hide her mocking smile. As always, this man only cared about himself.

The hum of the dishwasher summoned the housekeeper—a middle-aged woman wringing her hands nervously. "Miss Stella, this is my job..."

"What's your salary?" Victor demanded abruptly.

The woman flinched, casting a pleading look at Stella. After receiving a subtle nod, she whispered, "Four thousand...but Madame always finds excuses to deduct..."

"How much?"

"Sometimes half..." Her voice dwindled. "If not for your generosity, sir..."

Victor's face darkened. He stood abruptly. "From today, I'll handle your payments personally!"

Stella seized the moment. "Uncle, after Mother's discharge..."

"Don't worry!" Victor thumped his chest. "No one will dare lay a finger on my sister while I'm here!"

——

2:00 PM, Shi's Jewelry.

Employees whispered as Victor strode into the conference room with Stella in tow.

"Review these by four," he shoved a stack of files toward her. "Present solutions, and you'll earn your seat on the board."

Stella flipped through the documents, her frown deepening. Disorganized accounts. An eight-million-dollar deficit.

Her phone vibrated. A familiar number flashed: [Figured it out yet?]

Her fingers flew across the screen: [How did you know Victor would test me like this?]

[Educated guess.] Came the reply. [Lesson one: Anticipate your opponent's moves.]

Her fingertips trembled slightly: [But I don't know the other company's representatives.]

[Whoever comes, their goal remains—money.] Messages cascaded. [Two choices: Beg me. Or handle it yourself.]

A soft laugh escaped her as she typed: [I choose the latter.]

[Certain? I could resolve everything instantly.]

Stella turned toward the window, sunlight gilding her determined profile: [I need to stand on my own.]

The conference door burst open. A flustered assistant peered in: "Miss Stella! They've arrived early!"