Chapter 23

At exactly nine o'clock in the evening, William Johnson closed the last file and stood up from his desk.

Emma Clark was still hunched over her desk, surrounded by piles of English documents. She bit the cap of her pen, her brows furrowed tightly.

William walked past without even glancing at her.

"Vice President Johnson!" Emma suddenly stood up, her voice trembling with tears.

William paused mid-step and turned to look at her. Tears streaked Emma's face, her eyes swollen like peaches.

"Speak," he said coldly.

"These documents are too difficult, I..." Fresh tears welled up in Emma's eyes.

William checked his watch. "I want the full translation by tomorrow morning." With that, he strode straight to the elevator.

As the elevator doors closed, the sound of heart-wrenching sobs echoed behind him.

The fiftieth-floor Business Department was brightly lit. Emily Smith was reviewing the final data of a contract.

"Done!" Michael Thompson slapped the table and stood up. "I'm treating everyone to late-night snacks."

The group took the elevator down to the parking garage. Lily White suddenly pointed outside the window. "Look! It's Vice President Johnson!"

Through the glass doors, William was seen helping a stunningly attractive woman into his sports car.

"Tsk tsk, that figure," Lily clicked her tongue. "If I had her looks, I'd have pounced on him ages ago."

Emily quietly averted her gaze. The sports car roared away, its taillights leaving a crimson trail in the darkness.

Her phone suddenly vibrated. The caller ID read "Emma Clark."

"Emily Smith! Get your ass to the 67th floor right now and help me translate!" A hysterical shriek came through the phone.

Emily hung up without hesitation.

By the time she returned to her apartment, it was late at night. Several delivery boxes were piled at her doorstep—new recording equipment she had ordered.

The apartment was dark and silent. Emily assembled the equipment with practiced ease, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she tested the sound.

"Daniel, the equipment is set up," she texted Daniel Chen.

They recorded until the early hours of the morning. Only when Emily's voice grew hoarse did Daniel finally urge her to sleep.

The next morning, Song Yan brought breakfast.

"Mr. Johnson didn't come home last night?" Song Yan asked casually.

Emily stirred her porridge, offering no reply. Just how many hidden mistresses did he keep in places like this?

The sound of an ambulance siren pierced the air on the walk from the subway station to the office.

Paramedics rushed out with a stretcher. Beneath the oxygen mask, Emma's face was deathly pale.

"I heard she collapsed from pulling an all-nighter translating documents..."

"Didn't Vice President Johnson take special care of her?"

The whispers reached Emily's ears, but her steps never faltered. Served her right.

For the next few days, William was nowhere to be found. Emily threw herself into her work, occasionally staying up late to record audiobooks with Daniel.

On Friday night, they worked until three in the morning. When Emily woke up the next day, her throat burned with pain.

She walked out of the bedroom barefoot, her nightgown askew, revealing one side of her collarbone.

William was sitting on the living room sofa, reviewing documents. Emma stood beside him, her head bowed.

At the sound of movement, both looked up.

Emma's pupils constricted sharply. Emily froze, the burning in her throat instantly replaced by a suffocating sensation of another kind.