Lyra Grant watched Mabel Quinn’s back, a cold smile inadvertently appeared at the corner of her lips. That market research report wasn’t left in the conference room at all, so no matter how hard Mabel Quinn looked, she wouldn’t find it.
Just as she was about to return to her office, she caught a glimpse of Mabel Quinn’s computer screen which hadn’t been turned off, and stopped in her tracks.
Displayed on the computer screen was a page of a WORD document, and the content within the document was surprisingly the script draft of "Sound of the Wind."
The editor-in-chief only asked her to write the script draft and did not ask any other scriptwriters to do so. This means that Mabel Quinn’s script draft was something she wrote privately.
What was Mabel Quinn planning to do with this? Was she going to show it to the editor-in-chief after finishing it? Lyra Grant quickly scanned through the page of the script draft, then sat in front of Mabel Quinn’s computer, easily finding several other script documents by Mabel Quinn.
At this moment, there was nobody else in the screenwriting office. Lyra Grant, looking at the documents on Mabel Quinn’s computer, instinctively took out a USB flash drive and copied all those documents into her own USB drive.
Mabel Quinn didn’t know about Lyra Grant’s little actions. As she entered the conference room, she unexpectedly saw a strange man sitting in a chair, bowing his head and rubbing his temples with his hands.
As if he heard the door being pushed open, the man spoke, "Come over and help me rub my temples, my eyes are a bit uncomfortable." In his clear baritone voice, there was a hint of discomfort.
Mabel Quinn hesitated for a moment, then walked up to him. As she got closer, she was finally able to discern his features. He was a man with an elegant and refined appearance, fair skin, long brows, and a high nose. His eyes, closed at that moment due to discomfort, were framed by thick dark lashes casting a shadow on his eyelids. His thin lips were slightly parted, occasionally letting out faint moans, and even his eyebrows were tightly knitted from discomfort.
Mabel Quinn then reached out her hands and placed them on his temples, inevitably touching his fingers.
The man’s body trembled abruptly, and he suddenly grasped Mabel Quinn’s hand in reverse.
A wave of pain surged from her wrist, and in the next moment, the man, who had originally closed his eyes, slowly opened them and turned to look at Mabel Quinn.
The instant their eyes met, Mabel Quinn couldn’t help but hold her breath. They were very beautiful eyes, slightly narrowed, deep and dark, yet inexplicably giving off an empty feeling, as if nothing existed within them, no color at all.
In her memory, a long time ago, there had been someone whose eyes had given her the same feeling. That person also had very beautiful eyes, but they couldn’t see anything—empty and void. She had regretted more than once in her heart why heaven had given that person such beautiful eyes but did not grant them light?
So much time had passed that she could barely remember that person’s appearance or voice. The only thing she remembered deeply was those eyes—eyes that couldn’t see any light, completely empty.
Almost instinctively, she raised the hand that he hadn’t grasped and waved it in front of his eyes, as if trying to confirm whether these eyes could actually see.