The moment those words reached Tiffany’s ears, the tension coiled tightly inside her snapped.
A wave of pent-up sorrow surged up from the depths of her heart, stinging her eyes until they burned with unshed tears.
"Hmm," She set down her cup, resting her head lightly on Camilla’s shoulder as her eyes fluttered shut.
Silent tears traced down her cheeks.
Even though she knew Arlo wasn’t worth it, the sadness still overwhelmed her.
Camilla gently stroked Tiffany’s back, offering quiet comfort through her presence.
Time slipped away unnoticed.
Ramsey was the first to step into the living room, briefcase in hand, only to freeze at the sight of Camilla and Tiffany locked in what appeared to be an intimate embrace.
His steps faltered, the smile on his face stiffening as he opened his mouth to speak— But before he could, a tall, imposing figure strode in from the corner of his vision.
Ramsey pressed his lips together and bowed his head respectfully, stepping aside.
He had hoped the sight of his wife would lift Sinclair’s mood—and, by extension, make his own life easier.
Clearly, that wasn’t happening.
Sinclair’s gaze locked onto the two figures huddled together on the sofa.
His striking, icy features tightened, and a storm of displeasure darkened his obsidian eyes.
One wasn’t enough—now there were two?
Ramsey sensed the icy aura approaching and instinctively lowered his head further, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
Sinclair strode forward, his footsteps noticeably heavier against the plush carpet.
Ramsey’s lips twitched involuntarily.
Hearing the sudden commotion, Camilla turned her head.
Her crimson lips curved into a smile.
The big boss is back?!
Tiffany immediately straightened up, no longer leaning against Camilla.
She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt an inexplicable guilt, as if she’d been caught in the act.
Sinclair undid the buttons of his suit jacket and sat across from them, crossing his long legs.
His gaze remained fixed on Camilla.
"What were you talking about that had you so engrossed?"
It was clear that Mr. Luther was implying his wife had been so preoccupied with Miss Tiffany that she hadn’t even noticed his return.
Ramsey could practically taste the sourness of jealousy hanging thick in the air.
Tiffany caught the same vibe. In the past, she would have made a hasty retreat to avoid the awkwardness.
But today, wounded both physically and emotionally, she felt an unexpected defiance under Sinclair’s intimidating presence.
If the big boss wanted to stew in jealousy, she’d give him a full course.
Then she’d walk away without a second glance.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Luther.
This is all my fault," Tiffany spoke up before Camilla could respond, her brows knitting slightly as she feigned timid remorse.
"Camilla was just comforting me, so she didn’t notice you’d come back."
Sinclair arched an eyebrow, his dark, fathomless eyes narrowing as they locked onto her.
Tiffany quickly averted her gaze from his piercing stare and turned to her friend instead.
"Camilla, I’m fine now.
I should head back to the hospital to rest.
You stay with Mr. Luther."
As she spoke, she braced herself against the sofa, preparing to shift into her wheelchair.
"Assistant Ramsey, I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you for a ride again."
"Be good and stay still," Camilla gently held Tiffany’s arm, helping her settle into the seat before casting a displeased glance at Sinclair.
"Sweetheart, why so stern?
You’re scaring Fanny."
She was actually upset with him—because of this woman?!
Sinclair pressed his lips together, the coldness in his striking features deepening.
His sharp, dark eyes narrowed as they fixed on Tiffany, contemplating whether to throw her out right then and there in front of Camilla.
Meanwhile, Ramsey, silently enjoying the drama, struggled to suppress the smirk tugging at his lips.
It just proved the old saying—those involved are blind, while onlookers see everything clearly.
Miss Tiffany was clearly putting on an act, yet Madam either hadn’t noticed or simply refused to consider the possibility.
Seeing President Luther at a loss for once was a rare sight indeed.
"Fanny," Camilla turned to Tiffany, her expression softening with warmth.
"The hospital isn’t safe until we find out who’s behind Arlo’s actions," she said slowly.
"You should stay here tonight.
We’ll arrange another place tomorrow and have you moved there."
Fanny’s safety had to be guaranteed.
Both Sinclair and Tiffany frowned simultaneously.
They spoke in unison.
Clearly, they were in rare agreement on this matter.
Sinclair’s furrowed brow relaxed as he leisurely turned his gaze toward Tiffany, evidently waiting for her to convince Camilla.
Camilla shot her husband a playful glare before shifting her attention to Tiffany.
"Camilla," Tiffany spoke decisively, acutely aware of an intense stare boring into her.
"I can go home first.
Once everything’s arranged tomorrow, you can just send someone to pick me up.
She had only dared to "rebel against the emperor" earlier because she was confident she could walk away unscathed.
One might dare to tug a tiger’s whiskers once, but only a fool would keep pulling.
Camilla refused without hesitation.
"Arlo knows your address, and those people might know it too," she said, turning to Sinclair with hopeful eyes.
"Darling, don’t you agree?"
If sweetheart agreed, Fanny would have a harder time refusing.
Tiffany let out a quiet sigh of relief.
She didn’t want to face the big boss, and the big boss clearly didn’t want to see her either.
He’d definitely say no.
Sinclair pressed his thin lips together, his dark eyes calmly fixed on his wife.
He didn’t want to agree.
But clearly, he could never say no to Camilla. Tiffany: ?!
"Boss, where do you stand on this?"
Ramsey wore an expression of serene resignation, as if he’d seen this coming from miles away.
When it came to his wife, President Luther had no stance to speak of.
"Sweetheart has already agreed," Camilla flashed Sinclair a grateful smile before turning her gaze to Tiffany.
"Fanny, don’t refuse anymore."
Sinclair narrowed his eyes slightly, studying Tiffany with an inscrutable expression.
His long, elegant fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest, as though weighing some unspoken consideration.
Tiffany could practically feel the icy aura radiating from him, and she fought the urge to groan in despair.
If she’d known it would come to this, why had she ever provoked this man in the first place?