Chapter 2

Charles wore a dark expression throughout the entire press conference.

Maybe it was because I'd already said everything he would have said in my past life, so he had no chance to play the hero and save the day.

When we stood on stage waving at the end, he suddenly turned to look at me and said, "Olivia, stop bullying her with your little tricks. She's just a young girl."

I turned to him with a smile and replied, "Mr. Foster, you're so biased against me. I didn't accuse her of anything today, and I even gave her a raise. How can you say I'm bullying her? You're the one who docked her pay."

He shot back coldly, "You did it on purpose. Do you think I can't tell?"

Then he added, "There's nothing between us. She's just my assistant. Stop being so paranoid and misunderstanding everyone."

If this were my past life, I would have argued back endlessly right now.

I would have said something like, "Just an assistant? Then why did you rush her to the hospital when she got sick? Just an assistant? Then why does she bring you homemade breakfast every day?

"Just an assistant? Then why did she deliberately call you away on our wedding anniversary just because she rescued a puppy and didn't know what to do with it?"

But this time, I chose to stay quiet.

When the photo session ended, he pulled his arm away from mine and walked off.

The press conference wasn't a success.

The heavily embroidered gown we'd been building for months as the finale piece turned out to be just a design sketch.

We spent a fortune dealing with the negative publicity alone.

That evening, I went to the study and found Charles still reviewing PR reports.

He looked up at me, and his brow furrowed.

"The fallout from the launch is worse than we thought," he said.

"It's all my fault," I cut in immediately.

"If I hadn't messed up the scheduling, Emily wouldn't have been stuck dealing with the venue setup and Ms. Lynn wouldn't have had to pick up the dress. She was trying to help but made things worse. Bottom line, it's on me. I should take full responsibility."

He studied me and frowned slightly.

I knew why. These were the exact words he'd used to blame me in my past life.

Back then, when I was falling apart after watching my hard work get destroyed, exhausted from dealing with the public backlash and working overtime to remake the dress, he'd coldly told me I should take full responsibility for the launch disaster.

"So I've come up with a plan to fix this," I said.

I pushed the folder across the desk toward him.

He picked it up, and his expression shifted to surprise. "You want to spin off the design subsidiary and have it take the blame?" he asked.

"Yes," I said softly. "The design company was part of my wedding gift. Before it merged with Foster Group, it ran as an independent design brand. Foster Group has its own design department now, so the subsidiary doesn't add much value anymore.

"We should pin this incident on the subsidiary and separate it from Foster Group. That way, we can minimize the damage to Foster Group's brand."

He closed the folder and looked at me.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "It's the only thing your father left you."

I paused and then smiled. "I married you, so Foster Group comes first. After the design company goes independent, I'll take on some freelance projects to keep it from going under."

He looked at me.

"That company saved Foster Group once," he said. "Foster Group won't let it fail."

Inside, I laughed bitterly.

Back then, Foster Group was going under. My Sutton Design Studio saved them with that season's bestselling collection.

But Charles never wanted to talk about it.

He hated people saying he'd needed a woman to save him.

After that, he kept downplaying my company's importance and my role as lead designer, and he built a whole new design department within Foster Group.

Samantha was his assistant and one of the team leaders in that new department.

I gave him a genuine smile. "Well, thanks so much, Mr. Foster. Guess our little company's gonna have to rely on Foster Group for more projects."

He frowned. "You don't have to call me that at home."

I froze for a moment. He was the one who'd told me to keep work and personal life separate.

I flashed him a sweet smile. "Thanks, Honey."

I didn't linger like I used to, asking how his day went or finding excuses to stay. I just turned around and walked out.

I headed back to the master bedroom.

After our fight on our anniversary, we've been sleeping in separate beds for three months now.

Thinking back to those final days in my past life, the bed felt incredibly soft and warm.

In this life, I swore I'd never end up sleeping on the streets again.

I was so caught up in this sense of regained happiness that I didn't notice the door had cracked open.

Someone stood there, watching me sleep with a probing gaze.