UPGRADED, From Trash Ex to Billionaire Husband
Chapter 2
Chapter 2
"Damn, playing the 'hard to get' card? Masterful!"
"She looks like a porcelain doll, but she's clearly got the heart of a strategist."
Tray's patience snapped like a dry twig. "Lauren, is this really necessary? This little act?"
Before he could continue, Lauren cut the call.
The room fell into a temporary, stunned silence.
"She's not actually breaking up," someone scoffed, breaking the tension. "She's just trying to back you into a corner. It's a marriage trap."
"Why not take the exit?" another suggested. "Cut ties now and save yourself the headache later."
Tray leaned back, a mocking, dismissive smirk playing on his lips. "You think it's that easy to get rid of her?"
The group broke into laughter.
"Exactly. It's a classic power move. She'll be blowing up your phone, begging for a second chance within three days."
"Three days? I give her twenty-four hours."
"Care to make it interesting? Let's start a pool."
Tray took a slow drag of his cigarette, his eyes hooded and arrogant. "I bet she folds in two hours."
Outside, Lauren pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, turning away from the door that had just shattered her world.
In the dim shadows of the rear stairwell, Lauren collapsed, her body racking with silent, violent sobs. Her phone began to vibrate relentlessly, the screen light stinging her tear-filled eyes.
She answered with a trembling hand. Ethan Jordan's panicked voice exploded from the speaker.
"Lauren, where the hell are you with that wine?!"
"If this deal slips through our fingers, we're both toast!"
"Think about that 100,000 dollar bonus. You really want to throw that away?"
A year ago, she had clawed her way through a pool of five thousand candidates to join Vantage Lewis Group. She had done it for the 30,000 dollar salary and the prestige.
In her first four years in the workforce, she had lived like a monk, saving every cent of her 5,000 dollar salary to scrape together 200,000 dollar. But in just one year under Dashiel Lewis, her savings had ballooned by over 500,000.
But Dashiel Lewis-the CEO of Vantage-was a devil.
He was cold, fastidious, and an absolute perfectionist. Working for him meant being on call every hour of every day. A single midnight ping meant she'd be glued to her monitor until the sun came up.
Tray had constantly pressured her to quit, but she had stood her ground. Initially, she stayed for the house and the marriage. Now, she realized she had stayed for herself.
Love is a lie, but the money in my bank account is real.
She had to pivot. She couldn't afford to be a discarded woman; she had to be a professional.
Lauren retreated to the restroom, scrubbed the tear stains from her face, and meticulously reapplied her makeup. Shoulders back, she grabbed the two bottles of Louis XIII and headed for the VIP suite.
The moment she stepped inside, Ethan rushed toward her, his face pale. "Lauren! Thank God! I was about to drown in this cognac!"
The hulking, six-foot-tall man looked genuinely traumatized.
Lauren felt her professional mask click into place. Then, she felt a familiar, icy gaze.
Dashiel was staring at her, his eyes like daggers. A shiver ran down her spine as she approached him, head bowed. "Mr. Dashiel."
Dashiel was the picture of elite coldness in his bespoke suit. The stark contrast of the black fabric against his pale skin made him look dangerously unapproachable. His collar was slightly undone, a rare lapse in his usual ascetic armor, yet it only added to his intimidating aura.
To Lauren, he was the personification of "Keep your distance if you value your life."
He didn't even look at her.
His guest was Eric, the CEO of a powerful multinational partner-a boisterous, blue-eyed man in his fifties. Typically, a junior secretary would handle the pouring, but Eric had specifically requested Lauren's presence.
Dashiel hadn't forced her to come; it was Ethan who had dangled the carrot: "100,000 bonus. You in?"
She had thought of the house with Tray and answered within three seconds: "I'm in."
If she bailed now, it wouldn't just be an insult to Eric; it would be a slap in the face to Dashiel's authority. Dashiel didn't do "sympathy." If she failed him, he'd simply tell her to get lost.
If she lost her career on top of her relationship, she would truly have nothing.
"Secretary Lauren! We've been waiting," Eric boomed. "Mr. Dashiel was starting to get lonely without you."
Lauren offered a polished, fawning smile. "My apologies, Mr. Eric. This club is a bit of a maze and I lost my way. I'll take three penalty drinks to make up for it."
She poured a glass and knocked it back like water, her expression never wavering. The alcohol burned its way down, but the heat in her stomach actually helped dull the ache in her chest.
Her boldness immediately shifted the energy in the room. The executives began to cheer.
"Incredible! Secretary Lauren isn't just a beauty; she's a champion!"
Lauren didn't hesitate, pouring and finishing two more glasses in rapid succession.
"Mr. Dashiel, you're hiding your best talent. You should bring Secretary Lauren out more often; keeping her in the office is a crime against business!"
Dashiel finally looked up, his expression unreadable as he glanced at her before looking away without a word.
Of course, no one expected the CEO to drink. Lauren was the designated shield.
As the rounds continued, the room grew hazy. Eric, fueled by liquid courage, reached out a hand to rest it on Lauren's shoulder.
Suddenly, Dashiel's cold voice cut through the air. "Secretary Lauren, if you get Eric too drunk to see, how are we supposed to finalize the deal?"
Lauren caught the cue instantly. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out the folder.
Eric's hand froze in mid-air before he reluctantly withdrew it.
"Mr. Eric, regarding the high-end nursing home project-we've addressed all the concerns your board raised."
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