Dead Wife? Guess Who's Back & Boss Now, Hubby! - Chapter 16: Chapter 16
You are reading Dead Wife? Guess Who's Back & Boss Now, Hubby!, Chapter 16: Chapter 16. Read more chapters of Dead Wife? Guess Who's Back & Boss Now, Hubby!.
Three years later.
Penthouse suite, Southside Grand Hotel.
"Ms. Magna, we're really counting on you for Mr. Blackwell's business reception tonight." The South City branch manager, Mr. Quinn, spoke with obvious respect.
The woman by the window turned around. Her emerald velvet gown showed off her killer figure, while a silver feathered half-mask covered the upper part of her face, revealing only her elegant jawline and full red lips.
"I've got this, Mr. Quinn," she replied in a cool, melodious voice.
Quinn nodded with satisfaction.
This mysterious, up-and-coming avant-garde artist Magna was their secret weapon to crack the ice king Adrian Blackwell.
Soon after, a sleek black Bentley pulled up at the hotel entrance.
Quinn rushed over to greet him. "Mr. Blackwell, welcome!"
The car door opened and Adrian stepped out.
His perfectly tailored dark suit emphasized his tall frame, his whole presence screaming power and money.
Adrian had come down south at the Peterson Group board's request, acting as a special auditor to investigate some serious financial problems at several key subsidiaries in the region.
"Cut the small talk," Adrian said flatly.
The reception was set up in the hotel's rooftop garden, completely over the top with luxury.
Adrian glanced over the expensive spread without a flicker of interest, his face unreadable.
Quinn felt intimidated as hell.
This guy was nothing like the self-made tech entrepreneur from humble beginnings anymore.
He'd built his tech empire into a powerhouse and had become a major Peterson Industries stakeholder.
Word around town was that he moved fast and didn't give a damn about hurting feelings in business.
But even this cold bastard had one weakness—he was still obsessed with some woman who'd died years ago.
Quinn pulled himself together and clapped his hands. "Sorry to keep you waiting. We've got a little performance for you."
The lights dimmed and a violin melody filled the air.
Several dancers in feathered masks and shimmery dresses moved in like something out of a high-end music video. Their moves were seductive, their gauzy skirts deliberately brushing against Adrian's shoulders and arms...
Adrian sat stiffly in his seat, completely stone-faced.
Until a woman in a silver feathered mask walked with perfect poise to the side of the ballroom.
An easel and paints had been set up waiting for her.
She picked up a brush and, ignoring all the dancers, started painting bold strokes right there in front of everyone.
Adrian's hand holding the wine glass trembled.
His heart literally stopped for a second.
Even with the mask, he'd know that silhouette anywhere—it was burned into his soul.
It was her—the woman who'd haunted his dreams for three years—
Charlotte!
His heart hammered in his chest.
He stared at her painting, his eyes never leaving her for a second, afraid to blink in case she disappeared like a mirage.
Her slender fingers worked the brush as colors and lines flowed across the canvas, bursting with life—like the first green shoots breaking through after winter.
Adrian felt like the room was spinning.
Three years gone, and the woman painting in front of him perfectly matched the memory of that stubborn girl from his past.
She looked exactly the same.
As the music faded, he couldn't look away.
Adrian's intense gaze locked onto the woman in green beside the easel.
His voice came out rough: "Is your last name Pierce, by any chance?"
He clearly saw her hand freeze for a split second.
She looked up, her eyes completely steady behind the mask. "You've got the wrong person. I go by Magna professionally, and my last name isn't Pierce either."
"Magna..." Adrian repeated quietly, his eyes storming with emotion.
Then he stood up and walked slowly to the easel, his voice tight: "Take off your mask."
Magna gave a light laugh, confident but not cocky: "Mr. Blackwell, I have a rule—if you want to see my face, it's a million dollars per painting."
Adrian's eyes went ice cold as he pulled out his checkbook, wrote a number with quick strokes, and tore it out.
"Five million. Enough?"
"How generous of you."
Magna raised her hand and slowly removed her mask.
Penthouse suite, Southside Grand Hotel.
"Ms. Magna, we're really counting on you for Mr. Blackwell's business reception tonight." The South City branch manager, Mr. Quinn, spoke with obvious respect.
The woman by the window turned around. Her emerald velvet gown showed off her killer figure, while a silver feathered half-mask covered the upper part of her face, revealing only her elegant jawline and full red lips.
"I've got this, Mr. Quinn," she replied in a cool, melodious voice.
Quinn nodded with satisfaction.
This mysterious, up-and-coming avant-garde artist Magna was their secret weapon to crack the ice king Adrian Blackwell.
Soon after, a sleek black Bentley pulled up at the hotel entrance.
Quinn rushed over to greet him. "Mr. Blackwell, welcome!"
The car door opened and Adrian stepped out.
His perfectly tailored dark suit emphasized his tall frame, his whole presence screaming power and money.
Adrian had come down south at the Peterson Group board's request, acting as a special auditor to investigate some serious financial problems at several key subsidiaries in the region.
"Cut the small talk," Adrian said flatly.
The reception was set up in the hotel's rooftop garden, completely over the top with luxury.
Adrian glanced over the expensive spread without a flicker of interest, his face unreadable.
Quinn felt intimidated as hell.
This guy was nothing like the self-made tech entrepreneur from humble beginnings anymore.
He'd built his tech empire into a powerhouse and had become a major Peterson Industries stakeholder.
Word around town was that he moved fast and didn't give a damn about hurting feelings in business.
But even this cold bastard had one weakness—he was still obsessed with some woman who'd died years ago.
Quinn pulled himself together and clapped his hands. "Sorry to keep you waiting. We've got a little performance for you."
The lights dimmed and a violin melody filled the air.
Several dancers in feathered masks and shimmery dresses moved in like something out of a high-end music video. Their moves were seductive, their gauzy skirts deliberately brushing against Adrian's shoulders and arms...
Adrian sat stiffly in his seat, completely stone-faced.
Until a woman in a silver feathered mask walked with perfect poise to the side of the ballroom.
An easel and paints had been set up waiting for her.
She picked up a brush and, ignoring all the dancers, started painting bold strokes right there in front of everyone.
Adrian's hand holding the wine glass trembled.
His heart literally stopped for a second.
Even with the mask, he'd know that silhouette anywhere—it was burned into his soul.
It was her—the woman who'd haunted his dreams for three years—
Charlotte!
His heart hammered in his chest.
He stared at her painting, his eyes never leaving her for a second, afraid to blink in case she disappeared like a mirage.
Her slender fingers worked the brush as colors and lines flowed across the canvas, bursting with life—like the first green shoots breaking through after winter.
Adrian felt like the room was spinning.
Three years gone, and the woman painting in front of him perfectly matched the memory of that stubborn girl from his past.
She looked exactly the same.
As the music faded, he couldn't look away.
Adrian's intense gaze locked onto the woman in green beside the easel.
His voice came out rough: "Is your last name Pierce, by any chance?"
He clearly saw her hand freeze for a split second.
She looked up, her eyes completely steady behind the mask. "You've got the wrong person. I go by Magna professionally, and my last name isn't Pierce either."
"Magna..." Adrian repeated quietly, his eyes storming with emotion.
Then he stood up and walked slowly to the easel, his voice tight: "Take off your mask."
Magna gave a light laugh, confident but not cocky: "Mr. Blackwell, I have a rule—if you want to see my face, it's a million dollars per painting."
Adrian's eyes went ice cold as he pulled out his checkbook, wrote a number with quick strokes, and tore it out.
"Five million. Enough?"
"How generous of you."
Magna raised her hand and slowly removed her mask.
End of Dead Wife? Guess Who's Back & Boss Now, Hubby! Chapter 16. Continue reading Chapter 17 or return to Dead Wife? Guess Who's Back & Boss Now, Hubby! book page.