Miranda swirled her champagne glass gently, pondering how to respond.
Her father, Bruce, happened to have a connection with Johnson, the head of the Paris auction house. When she was young, her father, eager to cultivate her artistic appreciation, arranged for Johnson to teach her how to identify diamonds, antiques, and high-end luxury goods. With such training as a foundation, Miranda developed an almost instinctive sensitivity to these items.
But she wasn’t ready to let Eric know about this just yet.
Miranda smiled and explained, “Darling, back when I was short on money, I flipped luxury goods for a living!”
“So, learning to distinguish between real and counterfeit was a mandatory skill for me.”
Eric frowned slightly. He had always assumed that Miranda, though unhappy in her marriage, had at least lived comfortably. He never imagined she had faced such struggles.
What else didn’t he know about her?
Noticing his silence, Miranda deliberately joked, “Do I not look like a black-market dealer to you?”
Eric shook his head. “No, you don’t.”
Miranda teased, “Then what do I look like to you?”
“Like a woman with stories to tell.”
Eric slowly leaned closer to Miranda. His warm breath brushed against her face, and the air between them thickened with a dangerous hint of intimacy.
Miranda’s expression shifted. Instead of retreating, she tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze directly.
“You should be careful, Mr. Eric,” she said in a low voice, her fingers lightly skimming his chest, her tone seductive yet laced with warning. “Women with stories… are usually hard to handle.”
Eric paused, then let out a soft laugh, his eyes glinting with growing intrigue.
“Miranda, you’re becoming more and more fascinating to me.”
Late at night, Broad finished his shower and turned on his bedside lamp, as was his nightly routine, to skim through the day’s financial news.
It was a habit he had maintained for years.
Most of the articles were typical business reports: one corporation filing for bankruptcy, another being acquired for a high price. Broad flipped through the pages absentmindedly, finding it dull and preparing to turn off the light.
He set the newspaper on the bedside table, but a particular page caught his eye. His gaze froze.
Half the page featured a photograph of Miranda and Eric at a dinner, looking intimately close.
They held their glasses high, smiling brightly at the camera. Eric’s hand rested naturally on Miranda’s waist.
The bold headline beneath the photo was glaring:
“Eric Wilson Publicly Announces Relationship for the First Time Intimate Moments at the Dinner!”
Miranda! How dare she?
This woman was already flaunting a new relationship before their divorce was finalized.
Broad’s dark eyes burned with anger as he stared at Eric’s smiling face.
Eric.
As long as I haven’t signed the divorce papers, Miranda is still my wife.
Frustrated by the news, Broad found himself unable to sleep. He angrily tossed the newspaper onto the nightstand, grabbed his phone, and opened his schedule.
After two consecutive failures, his position was increasingly questioned by the board of directors. Though he had barely managed to hold on to his role thanks to his past achievements, his situation was precarious.
Next week was critical. He had to meet Simba, the project leader from Westbrook Group, to negotiate a partnership. Equally important was the court meeting regarding his daughter Winnie’s custody.
He had to win Winnie’s custody. A woman like Miranda was unfit to raise his daughter.
Miranda’s car pulled into the international airport parking lot.
Her best friend, Charlotte, had recently told her that she was returning to take over her family’s Westbrook Group. Miranda hadn’t seen Charlotte in years and was excited to reunite. She also wanted to learn how Charlotte successfully managed a company. After all, Miranda had just taken over her father’s Sora Group and urgently needed to prove herself.
Inside the airport, a stylishly dressed girl scanned the crowd. She wore a beige coat over shorts and thigh-high boots, catching the attention of passersby. Spotting Miranda, she waved excitedly.
“Darling, I’m here!”
Miranda ran over and embraced Charlotte warmly. “Charlotte, it’s been years, hasn’t it?”
“It has!” Charlotte laughed brightly, her teeth flashing white. “Seven years, to be exact. I went to King’s College to study design, and you married Broad. After that, we lost touch.”
Charlotte was straightforward and spoke her mind. Hearing her words, Miranda’s expression dimmed slightly.
Her biggest regret was giving up her promising design talent for what she thought was love.
Charlotte patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, Miranda. You’re still young. You can pick up design again!”
“You’re right.” Miranda smiled faintly. “I’m divorced now. Nothing can hold me back anymore.”
Charlotte pulled her heavy suitcase along as they walked, curiosity lighting up her face. “Speaking of your divorce, you haven’t told me-why did you decide to leave him?”