Chapter 17 Misunderstanding

The exhibition hall was done with great style, with no embellishment of lights and decorations, highlighting the true essence of art.
The atmosphere was quiet. Maggie paused at the right time. The high-end couture she was wearing was not available in her size, so she squeezed into a smaller size. The fabric was tight against her body, and with the high-intensity heating, she was starting to sweat, feeling warm and uncomfortable.
Struggling to catch her breath, there was a noticeable height difference between the two, but Harold seemed unaffected. "What are you doing at the Cultural Night?"
His deep voice brushed past her ears like a cello's wave. Maggie took a deep breath. "Networking. The advertisers withdraw their investments, and we need to attract new ones. The Manager asked me to accompany Mr. Flores from Vitalia Winery."
Harold furrowed his brow deeply. "Accompany?"
She chose her words carefully, with self-deprecation. "Yeah, just accompanying."
"You're married, won't your husband mind it?"
Harold had attended many social events before, but he wasn't the type to get mixed up in a crowd of women. Passionate affairs, he tightened that string, not touching, but he had seen plenty.
A place where money and power converge was too filthy and chaotic to look at. He understood the complexity of people and believed in the ugliness and greed of human nature.
He had doubted Maggie's motives, but he could also see her innocence and shallow thinking. He suspected whether women had a sense of limits in social events, whether they could control themselves.
Maggie hesitated for a moment, then her lips moved, "We're divorced."
"Divorced again?"
She looked up seriously, "Not again, just this one time."
Her almond-shaped eyes widened, showing determination.
Harold smiled, unsure, and reached for his cigarette box, only to find it empty. The walls were adorned with calligraphy and paintings by famous artists, indicating a no-smoking policy indoors.
He had a precise sense of time. When he said ten minutes, he stopped right on cue.
"Maggie, I gotta go."
Maggie glanced at the exhibition hall that she hadn't fully explored yet. There were still jewelry exhibitions, cultural relics exhibitions, and yacht model exhibitions, although she had only glanced at them.
She felt frustrated and discreetly undid a button on her chest, "I'll walk you out."
Harold nodded, not allowing her to go too far. They said their goodbyes at the staircase where they had just stood. He didn't look back and went down to the ground floor.
The government secretary who had been waiting approached him, "Just received the notification, the president's meeting has ended."
Harold stared into space, squinting his eyes, "Who took the notes?"
"Gabrielle, the newly appointed one. She was a senior reporter for the Radiant City newspaper."
His face turned gloomy, "Check her background thoroughly."
The person took out a cigarette and lit it for him, shielding the flame, "Secretary General, are you going back to your office?"
"No, I won't." He took two puffs, didn't like the taste, and flicked it away. "You go home first."
"What about you?"
He said in a solemn voice, "Don't worry about me." Then he turned back and went upstairs again.
Maggie was still standing in the same spot. There were no surveillance cameras here. She undid two more buttons, wiped the sweat from her chest. Her clothes were already tight, the fabric had thickness, and she wasn't wearing a bra.
Harold saw her, a deep cleavage revealing itself subtly, fair and pure, resembling the curve of a peach, trembling with breath, swaying.
If he brought it up right then, she would be embarrassed to the point of wanting to hide.
He coughed as he left. Maggie sensed someone on the lower floor and was startled, hastily adjusting her clothes.
...
Mr. Flores was heavily intoxicated, so drunk that even stabbing him wouldn't sober him up. Maggie helped him to the door to get a car.
The designated driver had arrived, a deep blue BMW 8 series pulling up from the outdoor parking lot. Maggie felt the weight of his arm on her shoulder, as heavy as half a pig.
She stumbled to the side, while Mr. Flores kept muttering about Tiffany, wondering why she hadn't come.
Maggie replied absentmindedly, "She's gone on a field trip. She'll be back at the end of the month."
"Field trip? In a remote and underdeveloped place, a desolate area with no decent bed? How can she sleep well? You, go buy her a mattress!"
Mr. Flores clung to the car door, pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket, and handed it to Maggie, "Buy... buy it now, fill the trunk, I'll deliver it to her."
Maggie didn't grab it, and the bills scattered on the ground. She picked them up, gritting her teeth and saying, "Once you get in the car, I'll go buy it!"
Maggie used all his strength to send him into the car, and shealso got in, feeling around in his pocket to put the money back.
Mr. Flores sat up, vomiting uncontrollably, about to throw up. It was an intimidating scene.
The car shook and trembled.
The black Audi was parked on the side of the road. Harold sat in the back seat, witnessing everything. His dark eyebrows pressed down on his sinister eyes, his face cold.
The conversation couldn't be heard.
There was a struggle between the two, with the throwing of money and the shaking of the car, causing a misunderstanding to unfold.
Nick asked, "Mayor, after ten o'clock, there will be a high-speed restriction. Are you still waiting for your people?"
Harold withdrew his gaze. The semi-lit car compartment outlined his handsome features, as if they were tempered with a poisonous blade. "No."