Thorns Grow After Betrayal (Celeste and Chester) novel Chapter 97

It was all Mirabelle's fault. If it hadn't been for that call, he wouldn't have had to swallow his pride and apologize to this brat.

Lance shot him a frosty glare and snorted. "I'm not accepting your apology."

"You—!"

"Lance." Joanna tugged gently at his arm, giving him a subtle shake.

Instantly, Lance's temper softened. "Alright, fine. For Joanna's sake, I'll let it go."

Inside, he was even more moved by what Joanna had just said.

"Joanna, for this year's Golden Magnolia Awards, I promise you'll be wearing the most stunning gown in the world. You'll outshine everyone on the red carpet."

Joanna's cheeks flushed, and she grew uncharacteristically shy. "Lance, thank you. It must have been hard to find you on such short notice."

"Don't worry about it. If you want to work with me, I consider it an honor," Lance replied, smiling warmly.

Zeke, watching this scene, could barely keep the disdain off his face.

Pathetic. Groveling like a lapdog—who's he trying to impress?

"Chester's back," Zeke muttered, deliberately lowering his voice as he spotted a familiar figure hanging up his phone.

"Chester, I just got back from overseas. How about drinks tonight? My treat?" Lance called out.

Chester shook his head. "Can't. I have to get home to see Celia."

At that, the three of them exchanged odd looks.

Lance's brows knit together. "What about your secret wife? If she's home, why do you have to rush back to babysit? Doesn't she trust me, or what?"

Lance had only just returned to the country; he had no idea about Chester's recent family drama.

"She hit her head and now she's obsessed with her so-called career—just like you," Chester said grimly.

It took Lance a second to process. So Celestine, like him, was in the design business. Was that an indirect jab at his mental faculties?

In the end, the evening plans fell apart. Chester left early, and Zeke soon found an excuse to slip away as well.

Lance drove Joanna to her last-minute taping and then returned to his office.

"Boss, bad news!"

"What's got you so worked up?" Lance asked, his tone sharp.

The head of the design department rushed in, clearly anxious. "We got word from Miss Remington's team—there's a problem with the dress. We sent someone to check the production line, and it turns out an intern got careless during the back seam and left a needle inside the dress!"

"What?!" Lance shot up, his brow furrowing. "Who else knows about this? Did Mirabelle's team find any real proof it was our fault?"

"N-no… They didn't record any unboxing video."

Lance regained his composure, speaking in his usual calm, cool tone. "Come up with an excuse and have them send the dress back. Tell them we'll do our best to fix it, but we can't guarantee a perfect result."

"And listen—whatever happens, this dress with the problem must never be traced back to us. Understand?"