Chapter 463 Intrusions and Interrogations
Ishara slyly chuckled and said, "Lawrence, the coast is clear. Let's sit down and eat, shall we?"
"Feel free to proceed—I'm going for a smoke. Your nutritionist will bring your meal," he muttered, casually pacing away. Ishara's smile remained fixed on her lips, recognizing that he was merely putting on a performance for Winnie. Yet, it didn't concern her; as long as Winnie was seething in anger, that was the only thing that mattered.
Meanwhile, at another restaurant.
"You okay, Winnie? The way Lawrence hustled us out, you seemed pretty steamed," Melanie inquired, not quite grasping the situation.
With a laugh as dry as the desert, Winnie retorted, "Why should I be upset over someone who’s nothing to me?"
"It's just—Lawrence always seems to have it out for you because of Ishara," Melanie commented innocently.
Her words struck Winnie like a needle, sharp and unrelenting, causing her to drop her fork in a fit of helpless frustration.
Bentley quietly smirked to himself, thinking that what Melanie had commented couldn't have been further from the truth. Lawrence wasn't picking on Winnie over Ishara—he was just plain jealous.
Winnie's phone buzzed, her lips pursed as she looked at the caller ID. She scoffed inwardly, 'Great, like kicking me out wasn’t enough, now what?'
Resistant but feeling the pressure swell in her chest, she stood up furiously to answer, "What do you want now, Lawrence?"
"The report you submitted has errors. Get back here now or I’ll have you fired!"
"There was no report this morning. You’re just trying to pick a fight!" Winnie retorted in anger.
He abruptly ended the call, leaving her choking on her rage, as pale as a ghost. She reached for her coat, tightly pressing her lips together.
Her colleagues heard everything, each one burning with silent anger. "Is Lawrence giving you a hard time again? Did Ishara set him off? You hardly touched your lunch!"
Winnie's stomach twisted with a cold knot of dread. The uncertainty of Ishara's involvement weighed heavily on her. She lost all appetite; even the mere thought of food caused her gut to ache. With frustration boiling inside her, she abruptly stormed out of the restaurant.
Melanie hurried through her meal and followed suit.
Jannie exchanged a glance with Bentley, who whispered over his coffee cup, "Go on, look after her."
Jannie understood the unspoken—Ishara wasn't the one who needed caring for. She nodded and hurried after Melanie.
Back at ST's sales department, Winnie barged into Lawrence's office, ready for a showdown, only to find it empty. She paused, catching the silhouette of a man in her peripheral vision, standing stark and imposing in her small office across the way.
Winnie stormed into the room, fuming, as Lawrence spun around. His lean finger pointed at the takeout box on her dining table, his eyes icy with contempt. "Eat," he said coldly.
She was speechless.
His commanding presence was chillingly intimidating, the fury in his eyes unmistakable.
Winnie was momentarily stunned, then burst into a rueful laugh. "What's wrong with you? Are you sick in the head? Because of your precious darling, I can't even dine in the restaurant!"
Lawrence spared her no time, glancing at his watch before throwing her an icy look that could've sparked a fire with its intensity. He was adamant about not letting her have lunch with Bentley – a fact that escaped Winnie entirely.
She was baffled.
"I don't have time to argue. Eat or don't – it's up to you. But if I catch you fooling around on company time, you'll regret it," he warned coldly before striding out, his long legs carrying him swiftly as he made a phone call, faintly heard saying, "Jeremy, where are we meeting?"
Biting her lip, Winnie observed him with cold fury as he headed off to meet Jeremy. Ishara had manipulated him into calling her up just to complicate matters.
She glanced back at the takeout box, puzzled. He wouldn't even let her eat downstairs at the restaurant. Instead, he sent up a meal for her. She wondered what game was Lawrence trying to play.
Memories of being ousted from the dining hall for Ishara's sake surged, propelling Winnie to hurl the takeout box into the trash. But as the lid flipped open, a warm chicken and rice soup spilled out.
She didn't like chicken noodle soup; she had only ordered it because Melanie had burned herself. Her true favorite dish was the century egg and pork congee. Three years ago, newly pregnant and married to him, she had craved it. He was stern back then, forbidding Taylor from making it for her.
Tears welled up in her eyes, carrying a mixture of emotions as she bit her lip, pondering whether he truly recalled the past.
But now, his remembrance only made him seem worse.
Winnie pondered to herself, 'Lawrence, what are you trying to do? Disgust me, then try to make amends?'
Her indignation mounted yet in the end... Winnie didn't toss the food away. Picking up the spoon, she began to eat, tears mingling with her heartache.
---
"Why did Mr. Lawrence abruptly depart before finishing lunch with you, Ishara?" Angela inquired as they entered the company premises, gesturing subtly toward the female bodyguard following closely behind. "And why would he find it necessary to arrange for a bodyguard for you? Isn't he meant to be your primary protector, especially considering your current fragility?"
Both questions soured Ishara's expression. In the eyes of the Blanchet and Rodriguez families, she had crafted the image of Lawrence doting on her at every turn, an image Angela believed without question.
But only Ishara knew the truth. Mr. Lawrence having a bodyguard carry or assist her was a rarity; he seldom showed her physical affection, unless Winnie was watching.
Ishara responded, "Angela, Mr. Lawrence is really good to me, he's just swamped today with some urgent matters. He spoils me, that's why he's got me a female bodyguard, you know? Usually, if I can't walk, he carries me himself."
"Pfft, Mr. Lawrence is totally head over heels for our Ishara. If only Mr. Bentley had half the insight of Mr. Lawrence and realized I'm a good girl, not like that tramp Winnie."
When the name Mr. Bentley came up, Ishara encouraged her, saying, "Angela, you've had a thing for Mr. Bentley for so long. It's not easy, but you've got to snag him. Winnie playing both sides isn't fair to you."
Angela, fueled by the conversation, grew even more incensed. "I will get Mr. Bentley, and I'll ruin that sleaze who's in my way!"
With a sly smile, Ishara glanced at the clock—it was two, time to get to work. She had significant matters to attend to later in the afternoon. After seeing Angela off, Ishara made her way to her office where her assistant, handpicked by Bryan, approached her. Just as she was about to speak, her phone buzzed—it was Eleanor calling.
She squinted and answered, "Mother, what's the matter?"
"Ishara, since when does Lawrence have another son? This morning, Mrs. Rodriguez arrives at the Blanchet family home with the child in tow! The boy seemed crafty, his eyes too sharp, undoubtedly up to something—he immediately asked to see you! Encouraged by Mrs. Rodriguez, he even attempted to sneak into your bedroom... I intervened to stop him, but now he's vanished once more. He shouldn't be roaming around the Blanchet property... Particularly not near that villa at the back, you haven't..."
Eleanor paused, her voice heavy with vexation before adding, "I don't know what he's after, and now we can't just throw him out!"
Ishara's gaze darkened. That imp had caused a ruckus at the Blanchet family estate.
He might have sensed something about that night from the way she glanced at him. Twins often share an intuitive bond, and the mere idea of being near him now caused her expression to abruptly change.
She quickly said, "He can't be nosing around, Mom, think of something!"
"Mrs. Rodriguez personally entrusted me to take care of the boy. I can't let anything happen to him at the Blanchet estate..."
Ishara's eyes narrowed, an idea sparking behind them. "Then get someone else to do it! Amy has a daughter who doesn't get along with the boy. Invite her over. And Mom, let me tell you something— that kid can't swim! Got it?"
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