Chapter 3

The next day, right after I finished my meeting, I saw Emily waiting for me with a lunchbox.

She was unusually dressed in a simple white dress, with two delicate braids pinned behind her head and a butterfly hair clip fluttering above them. She looked like a fairy who'd just stepped out of a dream.

The moment Emily spotted me, she ran over with quick little steps and smiled, "Grace, you've been working nonstop all morning. I made you some lunch—want to give it a try?"

I reached for the lunchbox, feeling a little flattered and surprised. But before I could even lift the lid, James snatched it away.

He opened it casually, took a dramatic sniff, and nodded with satisfaction. "Emily, your cooking is as good as ever. You are truly the model of a perfect wife."

Emily's eye twitched. She felt disgusted.

I snatched the lunchbox back and snapped, "Mr. Foster, for someone with your wealth, surely you can afford your own lunch."

James seemed to finally notice me. His confusion lasted only a second before he broke into a smug smile. "Grace, I know you've got a thing for me and don't want me to accept things from other women.

"But this is Emily we're talking about. If you hadn't taken her place back then, you never would've enjoyed over 20 years of luxury. You should learn to be more understanding. After all, what you owe her, you couldn't pay it back in a—"

Before he could finish, Emily slapped him right across his face.

The entire office fell silent.

James covered his cheek, staring at her in shock. "Emily, I was speaking up for you. Why would you..."

I was stunned too. Was Emily standing up for me?

Emily took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped each of her fingers, as if cleaning off something dirty. When she finished, she tossed the handkerchief into the trash and lifted her chin proudly. "In my life, there's nothing I hate more than being called 'the model of a perfect wife.'"

So Emily slapped James just because he had stepped right on her landmine. I let out a quiet breath of relief, though I couldn't help feeling a tiny pang of disappointment.

James was utterly humiliated, but since he still had his eyes on the York family's fortune, he didn't dare lose his temper in public. He forced himself to apologize. "I'm sorry, Emily. My wording was off. I didn't mean it that way. You only have to cook once a day. I'm not asking you to slave away for all three meals."

He stood there with his face all red and swollen, acting all pitiful.

I clenched my fists at the sight. Worried Emily might pity him, I quickly stepped between them. I touched his swollen cheek lightly, pretending to care. "How did your face get so swollen?" As I spoke, I quietly smeared chili powder onto his face.

James felt the pain intensify, and the scent of chili hit his nose. He shoved me away and tried to glare at me, but the sting brought tears and snot streaming down his face. "Y-you—what did you put on me?"

I pretended I had only just noticed and let out an overly dramatic gasp. "Oh no, when did I get chili powder on my hand? I'm sorry. I must've smeared it on your face."

Emily covered her mouth and giggled. "James, you'd better go wash up before your face gets so swollen you can't see straight. One slip in the bathroom and you're cooked."

I got the hint and shot a look at the staff next to me.

James was furious, but there wasn't much he could do. He could only sprint toward the bathroom.

The moment he left, Emily dropped the act and went all out with the sarcasm. "Grace, did you see that? Even his own face couldn't take it anymore and just gave up on him."

I burst out laughing and shook the USB drive I had just swiped off James.

Just then, a blood-curdling scream echoed from the bathroom. "Argh—who's the idiot who poured detergent right outside the bathroom door?"

While James was still dealing with the chili powder, Emily and I slipped back into the office and locked the door. I plugged his USB into the computer.

"James is way too dumb to pull this off by himself. There has to be someone pulling the strings," I muttered, eyes on the screen.

Emily leaned in so close her chin almost rested on my shoulder, her warm breath brushing my ear. "Let me see which blind fool dared to mess with you."

The files on the USB were a mess. Inside were mostly useless company spreadsheets and James' selfies. Emily tugged her lip in disgust.

Just when we were about to give up, a file named "Equity Acquisition Proposal—Template" caught my eye. Its size was way too large to be normal.

I clicked it open, and the screen was instantly flooded with rows and rows of financial data.

Emily took one look at the screen and already felt dizzy. "What on earth is this?"

"It's probably just a cover." I opened a program and ran a data-parsing script I had written myself. A few minutes later, the real contents peeled open in front of us.

It was a chat log, and the most recent messages made our skin crawl.

X typed: [The bracelet has been confirmed on Grace. The frequency is stable. Her recent palpitations and judgment errors show the effect is working well.]

James replied: [Brilliant move, boss. Grace has been on edge lately. She messed up several small projects. I even pretended to fall for Emily to throw her off even more.]

X added: [Next, stick to the plan—invite Grace out to relax, then get rid of her. You can bring Emily along. If needed, pull a hero-saves-the-damsel act and make her fall for you.]

James replied: [But that's murder...]

X typed: [Relax. No one will ever trace it. And you'll get every cent I promised.]

My blood ran cold as I read the chat log. The final look Emily previously had as she threw herself at me overlapped with the cold text on the screen.

"Get rid of her..." Emily's voice trembled in disbelief. "Grace, they wanted to kill you?" She grabbed my arm so hard her nails nearly sank into my skin. "Because you were the one most likely to inherit the York family's fortune, so you were in their way? I'm telling grandpa."

"Don't. Without solid proof, you'll only spook them." I turned my hand over and held her icy fingers tight, my eyes locked on the last message.

X typed: [The final "acquisition" plan is ready. It's time to take back what was always mine.]

"Take back what was always his?" I murmured. Could he be someone inside the York family?