Chapter 3
I stood at the doorway, my fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of my evening gown.
The fabric still carried the smell of cooking oil.
At the center of the crowd, several core Whitmore family elders raised their crystal champagne flutes.
"Well done, Madeleine." The foundation chairman — Ethan's father, the elder Mr. Whitmore — beamed with praise. "'Community Kitchen' was an inspired concept. Especially that slow-braised red wine veal — it gave the entire gala a warmth, a genuine human touch. And the five-point-six-million-dollar pledge total is excellent."
"It wasn't my credit alone, Mr. Whitmore." Madeleine smiled, gracious and composed.
Her gaze cut across the crowd and landed precisely on me. "I also want to thank Claire. As temporary support staff, she ran around very diligently and helped me execute a great many tedious procurement details flawlessly."
I felt as though I'd swallowed a mouthful of broken glass — every shard scraping raw.
The chilled black cod suppliers I'd pulled in at the critical moment, the pastry kitchen, the temporary team — even the brand story that had moved every tycoon in the room had been written by me, just hours ago, in marker on a whiteboard in a sweltering kitchen.
And now all of it had become glittering medals on Madeleine's résumé.
More cutting still: she hadn't forgotten to describe me, in breezy tones, as an errand-running "helper."
A polite round of applause and congratulations rippled through the hall.
Madeleine bowed her head elegantly, accepting all the praise with perfect ease.
I turned and looked at Ethan, standing at the edge of the crowd.
He was speaking in low tones with a family partner.
Seeing me approach, he stopped and put his arm around my waist.
"Charles, I'd like you to meet someone." Ethan's voice was steady. "This is Claire, my girlfriend — and the temporary assistant who helped out tonight."
I fought down the roiling ache in my sinuses and managed a composed smile for the partner.
My stomach was cramping from exhaustion and hunger, but I didn't dare show a sliver of emotion.
Because just two hours ago, I had grazed the "breakup red line" of 79.
At this critical moment, I had to endure.
As long as I got through this — as long as I could trade it for that promised score…
After the partner left, Ethan released my waist.
"Come with me." He spoke quietly.
We crossed the noisy celebration and stepped out onto the suite's broad terrace.
The night wind carried the early-autumn chill of the Atlantic, brushing against my burning cheeks.
"The family elders are very satisfied with tonight's result." Ethan stood with both hands in his trouser pockets, gazing down at the glittering Charles River below — not even glancing at me. "Your kitchen crisis management was clean. Madeleine, as the family's public face, gained the reputation she needed, and the charity project was a resounding success. A win-win."
"Win-win?" I echoed softly, my fingers twisting together until they ached.
"Claire." He finally turned, those ice-blue eyes looking down at me from a height. "Haven't we discussed this? If you had been the face of it tonight, do you think those donors would still have written five-point-six million? The bigger picture matters. You've proven your value 'behind the scenes,' and the family recognizes your contribution. Isn't that worth more than a vanity spotlight?"
I bit my lower lip, tasting blood.
Because of my mother — the mistress. Because of my less-than-savory origins.
I had never been qualified to stand at his side.
But I didn't argue.
I was too tired. That exhaustion left me without even the strength to quarrel.
I lifted my head and looked at him with more seriousness than I ever had. "Ethan, you said that if I saved the gala, you'd give me enough bonus points. You said there was hope for me to break 100 this month…"
Breaking 100 meant he would propose.
He had sworn it to me.
"I keep my word."
Ethan drew his custom tablet from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. The cold light of the unlocked screen lit up the sharp planes of his profile.
He opened the assessment system.
On the interface, that blood-red "79" still sat where it had been.
I held my breath.
His long fingers tapped deftly on the screen.
"Perfect crisis management. Timely resource deployment. And —" He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest, satisfied curve. "Just now, when Madeleine thanked you publicly, you didn't lose control again. You showed the restraint and composure appropriate to this class."
Bonus Point Generated: —
Ethan said softly, like a king bestowing vast riches, "I told you — the family won't shortchange your effort."
I stared fixedly at the screen in his hand.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I was finally about to reach the finish line.
The progress bar's number rolled rapidly before my eyes.
79…
…
97…
98…
The system's ticking stopped dead.
I swallowed involuntarily, my lashes trembling violently, my eyes locked on the number that had suddenly frozen at the center of the screen.
【Current Monthly Total: 99】
The progress bar's glow fixed itself at 【99】. A hair's breadth from that 100.
But that hair's breadth was an insurmountable distance.
The wind on the terrace seemed to grow colder by the second.
A wave of dizziness washed over me. That number on the screen struck the top of my skull like a club.
Ninety-nine.
Still ninety-nine.
