Chapter 450 A Fine Line Between You and a Beast
After a moment of silence, Ernest signed the resignation letter she had handed him.
"If you're ever unhappy in the future, you can always come back. Anne, please don't feel pressured." he said.
'And don't deliberately avoid me,' he thought but didn't say.
Anne nodded without saying anything and turned to leave.
Since she had decided to open her own studio, she immediately began making preparations.
She ultimately chose Seaside City for the location.
After this trip, she suddenly realized how pointless it had been to keep avoiding Willard.
She had done nothing wrong, yet she was the one who had spent all this time wandering, even having to be careful just to visit her grandfather's grave.
From now on, she would settle in Seaside City, where she could visit his grave regularly without worry.
She tidied up the old house her grandfather had left behind.
The photography studio would be located in a small alley.
Over the years, she had built up quite a reputation, so she didn't need to set up shop in a busy district to attract business.
The studio's name was simple: Anne Photography.
After setting everything up by herself, she began hiring staff.
She didn't need many—just two assistants would do.
While waiting for applicants to interview, she called Elissa to let her know about the studio.
Elissa only asked, "So do I get a discount?"
"Of course you do," Anne replied.
Elissa laughed. "Hope always jokes that we might be long-lost sisters, especially now that I've found out my father isn't my biological father and I don't know who my real parents are—she says we even look alike when we're together."
Anne didn't know who her parents were either.
Her grandfather had only told her they didn't want her, and that she shouldn't look for them or think about them.
Suddenly, she wondered if her immediate connection with Elissa might actually have some truth to it.
On impulse, she said, "Elissa, what do you say we get a DNA test?"
Elissa couldn't help but laugh, though she didn't mind playing along. "Sure, come find me when you're not so busy."
Just then, someone knocked on the door.
"I have to go now, Elissa," Anne said.
"OK."
After hanging up, she went to open the door for the interviewee.
"Please—" she began, but stopped mid-sentence when she saw who was at the door.
She immediately tried to close it.
But a hand blocked it.
"Turning people away before the interview?" the visitor asked.
Anne was furious. "Willard, are you insane?"
"Yes," Willard replied matter-of-factly. "Would you like to see my medical report?"
Anne took a deep breath. "Fine, since you're here, let's go get divorced right now."
"I don't have time. I'm here for the interview."
"You're interviewing?"
"Yes."
Anne thought he was just there to cause trouble.
"You're giving up a great career to interview for a small assistant position with me?"
Willard said seriously, "That's job discrimination. Can't I have different career plans?"
Anne could never believe such nonsense.
He carried the responsibility of the Larson family, with immeasurable wealth and a net worth that couldn't be measured in mere billions of dollars.
He had both money and power.
And now what was he saying?
That he wanted to apply for an assistant position that paid a few thousand dollars a month.
If that wasn't insanity, what was?
Even with year-end bonuses and occasional rewards she might give out, it wouldn't amount to even a fraction of his wealth.it wouldn't amount to even a fraction of his wealth.
"Willard, I've made myself perfectly clear. This kind of persistence is really pointless. I don't want you in my life."
A flash of hurt crossed Willard's eyes, but he maintained his composed demeanor.
"You can't reject me without an interview just because of who I am. And I don't accept your reason for rejection—you haven't even assessed my professional qualifications."
What professional qualifications could he possibly have?
He couldn't even distinguish between camera models.
His elite education from childhood had never included exposure to such recreational activities.
Anne didn't want to waste time.
Even if she did interview him, was she really going to hire him as an assistant just because he had done some preparation?
"Just leave. It's my studio, and I have the right to choose who I interview."
Willard sat down at the entrance.
When the next interviewee arrived, he told them that the owner only hired based on mood, not professional ability.
He advised them not to waste their time.
Anne pushed him aside and led the interviewee inside.
Willard got up and followed them.
"I've already rejected you as an applicant. Please stop this harassment, or I'll call the police," Anne said.
"Go ahead. I'd like the police to judge this situation too," Willard replied, much calmer than Anne. "I want to ask if a studio that doesn't follow proper procedures should be allowed to continue operating."
"Willard! What do you really want?" Anne exclaimed in frustration.
"Fairness," Willard said. "I must participate in the interview. Please, Ms. Waverly, treat everyone equally."
Anne was tired of arguing over this trivial matter.
She allowed him to interview alongside another candidate.
She deliberately asked difficult questions.
The other interviewee was passionate about photography and had been part of a photography club in college.
They had even brought professional equipment to the interview.
So she made her questions especially challenging.
She was certain Willard wouldn't be able to answer them.
But to her surprise, Willard answered faster than the other candidate.
And his answers were good.
This wasn't something one could achieve with just a little preparation.
The other candidate didn't even wait for Anne's decision before hurriedly leaving.
Willard leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and looked at Anne with a slightly raised eyebrow.
His pride was evident.
Anne gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to slap him.
She needed to hire two assistants in total.
But Willard sabotaged all the subsequent interviews.
One young woman who had just graduated whispered to her before leaving, "I came because of your reputation, Ms. Waverly. I really admire your work, but I know I have a lot to learn, and this gentleman has such extensive knowledge and preparation that I can't compete. He's a one-man army."
By the end of the day, only Willard remained.
The others, faced with his quick responses and smooth handling of questions, had all slunk away.
Even those who might have stayed left quickly when Willard asked if they could outperform him.
Anne ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.
"Willard, I just don't understand why you always have to go against me!"
Willard poured her a glass of warm water. "Calm down."
Anne refused to take it, her eyes red with anger.
"Let me ask you this: when I was eighteen and stole a kiss from you, expressing my feelings, didn't you say you would never like me and only saw me as a little sister?"
"I—" Willard immediately tried to explain, but she coldly cut him off.
"And wasn't it you who, after we got married, ignored me for three years and wouldn't even return to the Larson family, let alone send a single message, because of me?"
Willard panicked, moving closer to her, wanting to explain properly.
But Anne wouldn't listen. "And wasn't it you who, after we got our marriage certificate, had Quinton give me a three-year contract, without even showing your face?"
She became increasingly agitated.
Her face and neck flushed red with anger.
Tears began to fall uncontrollably.
She wiped them forcefully and then tried to throw him out.
Willard pulled out a tissue and offered it to her, but Anne didn't take it.
"Get out," she said.
Willard's lips tightened slightly, his deep voice filled with profound regret, "I take responsibility for all my past mistakes and everything I've said. I know the hurt I've caused you can't be fixed overnight. But Anne, you can hit me, curse at me—but asking me to give up on you is something I cannot do."
Anne opened the door, saying nothing.
But her message to get out was clear.
Willard walked up to her. "None of those interviewees were as good as me. I won't accept rejection based on our personal relationship. I'm starting work now."
Anne laughed bitterly. "Willard, do you even look like an assistant or an interviewee? Whatever the reason, an interviewee just has to accept being rejected. Even if they're really professional, if the boss doesn't like them or want them, they won't get hired."
Willard remained calm. "You're letting personal grudges interfere. Work is work, life is life. You can't lump everything together."
Anne had never been able to out-argue Willard—not since they were children. His sharp logic and cunning had been honed from an early age. Knowing she couldn't win this game, she simply chose not to play.
"I don't want a male assistant."
"But there were men among the interviewees earlier. If you didn't want one, why didn't you specify that in your job posting?"
Anne did need a male assistant, especially for carrying equipment when traveling.
Some of the equipment was quite heavy.
She hadn't expected this to become his point of contention.
"This is my first time being a boss. So what if I didn't think of everything? What business is it of yours? I'll do whatever I want."
"That's fine," Willard nodded. "You're the boss, it's your call."
"Then get out already! I don't want you as my assistant."
Willard said, "Anne, the way you're so frantically pushing me away—doesn't that mean you still have feelings for me?"
To prove she didn't have feelings for him and didn't love him,
Anne kept him on.
She also called in a female candidate to work—the one who had spoken with her at length before leaving.
Her name was Thora White.
Anne had just landed a gig, so she decided to take Thora with her, leaving Willard at the studio.
Willard said nothing.
Anne acted as if he didn't exist.
"Ms. Waverly," Thora said hesitantly after they got into a taxi.
Anne didn't respond.
She could guess what Thora wanted to ask.
When they reached the airport, Thora couldn't hold back anymore: "What's your relationship with Oscar? I feel like there's something unusual between you two, not like a typical boss-employee relationship."
Anne didn't know why Willard had chosen that name.
But she didn't expose him.
After all, he was too famous, and if someone recognized him, she'd have a lot of explaining to do.
"You're overthinking it," she said.
Anne collected their tickets and headed to the waiting area.
Before she could sit down, someone in a uniform approached her.
They politely asked for her name and then said, "You've been upgraded to first class. Please follow me to the VIP channel."
Anne immediately guessed this was Willard's doing.
She had made good money over the years, but had never indulged in such luxuries.
She couldn't justify spending on first class.
After all, it was just a seat, and the destination was the same.
There was no need to spend extra money.
What more could first class offer?
She didn't need those services.
"Whoever upgraded me, please tell them I'm perfectly fine in economy. Save first class for someone who needs it more."
The staff member hesitated.
This was an order from the Larson family, and if she couldn't persuade Anne into first class, she'd lose her job.
"Unfortunately, the upgrade fee is non-refundable. If you would still like to move to economy class, you are welcome to do so, but the ticket will remain at the first-class price."
Even though it wasn't her money, it seemed wasteful.
Willard, being so wealthy, didn't understand how hard it was to earn money.
Anne finally said, "Fine, let's go then."
Thora was much more excited than Anne.
She exclaimed, "Ms. Waverly, this is my first time in first class! When I first saw your work, I fell in love with it. I never imagined I'd become your assistant. I'll definitely work hard!"
Anne had a headache and wasn't in the mood to talk.
"I'm going to sleep. Wake me when we arrive."
"Okay."
Thora sensed that Oscar had arranged the upgrade. She had noticed his watch—a limited edition, priceless and worth as much as a luxury home.
Although he appeared to be a small-time employee, he was actually wealthy and had come to work as an assistant. Thora reasoned that either he had been sent by his family to learn the basics, or he was pursuing a woman he admired; she leaned toward the latter.
Meanwhile, Quinton came to report to Willard.
He found him huddled in the small, somewhat dilapidated studio, cleaning camera lenses.
Quinton shook his head and sighed.
If only he had known it would come to this.
"Mr. Larson, the vote is tied. Would you like to make the decision, or should we vote again?"
Willard didn't even look up, focused on his task.
"Voting is useless. Let Patrick take the position."
Quinton immediately went to handle it.
As he reached the door to close it, the last ray of sunlight disappeared.
A spotlight shone on the lens.
Willard's gaze was focused, but his figure looked lonely.
In that moment, Quinton seemed to understand why Willard wanted to be an assistant.
Willard was experiencing the feeling of being ignored that Anne had once felt.
Anne hadn't expected to encounter a familiar face on this job.
It was the best friend of the woman who had tried to seduce Willard.
After Willard had dealt with that woman, she had reported him to the police.
But with Willard's influence, nothing came of it.
Anne only knew she had resigned and left afterward. She didn't know the details and didn't want to know.
Her relationship with these women had always been strained.
"Mrs. Larson, do you still need to work? I thought the Larson family's fortune would be more than enough to keep you comfortable for several lifetimes."
There was no point in reasoning with such people.
It would only encourage them.
"Feeling guilty?" the woman sneered. "No wonder—you spent the night at a hotel with Ernest. Mr. Larson can have any woman he wants, so there's no reason to keep an unfaithful woman like you."
In the past, Anne wouldn't have confronted them.
They were Ernest's employees.
She owed Ernest a lot, so she had held her tongue.
There was no point in arguing.
A few harsh words wouldn't kill her.
But now, neither of them worked for Ernest anymore.
There was no need to hold back.
Anne sneered, "Your jealousy is quite ugly to behold. Instead of fixating on other people's relationships, you'd be better off improving yourself—sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between you and an animal."
The woman lunged at Anne in anger.
Anne caught her wrist.
Her grandfather had been a military officer, after all—of course she knew some self-defense.
The woman, unable to break free or do anything to Anne,
opened her mouth, trying to attract the attention of passersby.
But Anne cut her off.
"Go ahead and mention who I am. You and your friend will end up with the same fate."
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