Chapter 138

Emily's fingers trembled slightly. She forced a smile. "Lily, you must be mistaken."

Lily White nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. Vice President Johnson wouldn't..."

The sentence hung unfinished as both women fell into silence.

Emily stared down at her coffee, stirring it absently. She had always believed William's feelings toward her amounted to nothing more than dislike. Hatred was too strong a word—it required a reason profound enough to carve into one's bones.

What was she to him? Just a discarded plaything, unworthy of even being remembered.

The next day at lunchtime, the staff canteen buzzed with noise. As Emily turned with her tray, she collided with Grace Lee. Soup splattered across Grace's pristine skirt, leaving an ugly stain.

"I'm so sorry, Grace!" Emily apologized hastily. But when she looked up, she met eyes cold as ice.

William stood beside Grace, his presence instantly chilling the air around them. The way he looked at her—as if she were something filthy.

"Clean it." Three words, sharp and final.

Grace opened her mouth to decline but froze under William's glare.

As Emily knelt, she heard gasps ripple through the silent cafeteria. The sound of paper towels scrubbing fabric was deafening in the stillness.

"Vice President Johnson..." Michael Thompson tried to intervene.

"Need I repeat myself?" William's voice was laced with venom.

Emily's hands shook—not from fear, but from sudden understanding. When someone despised even the air you breathed, that was hatred in its purest form.

"I'll buy you a new one," she said softly, standing up.

But William had already turned away. "Make sure it's fully compensated."

Grace hurried after him, her stiletto heels clicking nervously against the floor. She had seen it—the moment the elevator doors closed, her boss's gaze remained locked on the kneeling figure.

Inside the private elevator, Grace held her breath.

She remembered how, just half an hour earlier, William had abruptly decided to eat in the staff canteen after already returning to the 67th floor. And how conveniently they had crossed paths with Emily and her colleagues.

Coincidences like that didn't exist.

Stealing a glance at the man beside her, Grace felt a chill creep up her neck. She was certain now—that look in his eyes wasn't dislike.

It was the gaze of a predator fixated on its prey.