Chapter 571 Albert Is Really Angry
In that moment, the air between them crystallized into an impenetrable wall of ice.
Yvette's initial displeasure and guilt now lodged in her throat like a stone. In her panic, she had blurted out the word "someone else"—and she knew Albert had always been sensitive about this particular slight.
Watching his face turn ashen, Yvette opened her mouth but found no words. Her chest rose and fell with the turbulent mix of resentment, hurt, and anxiety that made peace impossible.
They stared at each other, disappointment flickering in both their eyes like dying embers. The tension hung thick as smoke, needing only the smallest spark to ignite into full-blown warfare.
"That's not what I meant." Yvette's voice came out strained, each word carefully measured. "I just said I don't like being watched. Albert, I lived under your surveillance for so long—it left scars."
Albert let out a bitter laugh, offering no response. He knew he shouldn't have assigned someone to follow her, not when their relationship had finally begun to thaw.
But the dangers circling her made it impossible to let her walk alone. Even with the Hayes family temporarily restrained, Violet and David remained predators waiting to strike.
Violet was little better than a rabid animal, and David's increasingly erratic behavior ticked like a time bomb.
"I want to protect you." Albert exhaled slowly, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I'm your husband, BoBo and CiCi's father. I'm not some stranger."
The words fell between them like stones into still water, each syllable deliberate and cutting. They locked eyes, the temperature in the room dropping by degrees. Both recognized their emotions had spiraled beyond reason, yet neither could swallow their pride enough to bridge the widening chasm.
Yvette's hands clenched into fists at her sides. This fight had erupted over nothing—trivial irritations that exposed the fundamental instability of their foundation. Too many buried grievances lay between them, festering in the dark.
She didn't want to waste their precious time on this battle. Drawing a steadying breath, she said, "I apologize for calling you 'someone else.'"
Albert raised his hand toward her face, but Yvette instinctively lowered her gaze, avoiding his touch.
The gesture hung suspended in the suffocating silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing. His hand hovered in the space between them before slowly falling to his side.
Albert rose from the bed, looking down at her with weary resignation. "It's late. Get some rest. I have work to finish."
Yvette nodded. "Alright. Don't stay up too late."
Yvette tossed and turned all night, sleep remaining elusive as morning mist.
Moonlight streamed through the windows, casting shadows across her troubled features. She wrestled with dreams that offered no peace, each movement a testament to her inner turmoil. The sheets twisted around her like accusations, mirroring the chaos in her mind.
Deep into the night, when silence had claimed everything else, her restlessness continued its relentless symphony. She woke with a start from a nightmare, sweat beading her forehead, her hand instinctively reaching for the space beside her.
The vast bed held only her solitary form. He really was angry this time.
Regret settled over Yvette like a familiar weight. She had always possessed a talent for turning their relationship into wreckage.
Albert sat hunched forward in the conference room chair, elbows planted on the mahogany table, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm.
His gaze swept across the assembled team like a blade, sharp enough to cut glass, making direct eye contact feel like staring into a furnace.
"This is what you call a proposal?" His voice carried the quiet menace of distant thunder, each word precisely calibrated for maximum impact.
The team exchanged panicked glances, all eyes turning desperately toward Vincent, who stood behind Albert like a reluctant shield.
Vincent rubbed his temples, recognizing their silent pleas for intervention. Whether his late-night phone call had triggered some butterfly effect, Albert had spent the day cutting through the office like a scythe through wheat, rejecting barely adequate proposals with surgical precision.
Now, well past midnight, he had dragged them all back into this fluorescent-lit purgatory for another round of systematic demolition. Albert radiated the kind of cold that could freeze blood in veins, and Vincent felt the collective weight of his colleagues' desperation.
Initially committed to self-preservation, Vincent had planned to remain silent.
But the accusatory stares from around the table finally broke his resolve.
After all, Albert's recent good mood had taken a nosedive right after that phone call—Vincent couldn't shake the feeling he'd inadvertently lit this particular fuse.
Clearing his throat, he ventured carefully, "Mr. Valdemar, we're still ahead of the review deadline. These are preliminary drafts—the teams will refine them before final submission."
"So you bring me garbage because you have time to spare?" Albert's response cut through the air like a whip crack.
Albert's standards had always been unforgiving, his perfectionism legendary throughout the company.
On ordinary days, his mere presence commanded respect tinged with healthy fear. Now, with his temper unleashed, the atmosphere had become suffocating.
Every head in the room bowed like wheat before a storm, no one daring to meet his gaze directly.
Vincent tried again: "If you find the overall direction lacking, perhaps they could produce a revised version now for your approval before proceeding with details?"
Albert's eyes flicked to Vincent, then to his watch. Rising from his chair with predatory grace, he announced, "Thirty minutes." The conference room door closed behind him with the finality of a coffin lid.
The moment he disappeared, the oppressive atmosphere lifted like fog before sunrise. The team sat in stunned silence before someone finally spoke:
"What the hell crawled up his ass today? I thought we had at least two weeks of peace after his recent good streak."
"Who knows? Wasn't he supposed to be living in domestic bliss with his wife and kids, having survived all that family drama?"
"Vincent!" The project manager looked ready to commit murder. "Give us something here—what's his deal? Are we about to be fed to the wolves?"
Vincent shuffled papers awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. "I honestly have no idea."
"I'm betting he's sexually frustrated," someone muttered. "Probably got into a fight with his wife and she's cut him off."
"That's got to be it! Nothing else explains this level of psychotic behavior."
"Jesus Christ, I'd rather wrestle a grizzly bear than deal with him when he's like this!"
Vincent scratched his head helplessly, wondering if his ill-timed phone call had indeed prevented Albert from getting laid, resulting in this hormonal apocalypse.
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