Chapter 30
Freddie’s announcement stunned everyone.
“A five-year advertising contract with Yates Construction? Their annual ad budget must be in the tens of millions! Lilian, you’re awesome!”
“Lilian, I’ve always suspected you were the future Mrs. Yates. Your boyfriend’s name is Filip, and the heir to Yates Construction is also named Filip. Last time you said it was a coincidence, but now you can’t deny it.”
“Lilian doesn’t like to show off, unlike some people,” someone muttered, a clear dig at Cynthia.
The meeting room erupted in compliments for Lilian. Yates Construction was one of Roncrity's top companies; its advertising budget dwarfed dozens of smaller firms. Lilian had secured a five-year deal—even Alison would throw a party. It was now clear: Lilian was destined to become Mrs. Yates. Anyone close to her would reap future rewards. Cynthia was utterly ignored.
Cynthia knew this world valued connections and self-interest above all else.
After the meeting, Freddie offered a perfunctory attempt at consolation. “Cynthia, I still have high hopes for you. Your show has the highest ratings at the station, and I believe you’ll outshine Lilian in this area. This hosting competition is just a formality.”
He was right.
Over the next week, Cynthia and Lilian alternated hosting the prime-time slot. The station launched a public vote to decide the next host. Sunday was the final day. Both had hosted for three days each, and Cynthia was significantly ahead based on initial data. The station organized a live, dual-hosting event to allow real-time voting. Cynthia was the clear frontrunner. Her appearance and professionalism were impeccable; her Midday News Insight experience had cultivated a loyal fanbase. From the start, her votes far exceeded Lilian’s.
Just as Cynthia’s victory seemed assured, the unexpected happened. A trending topic exploded on Twitter, seizing the top spot. The title: “[Prime-Time Host Cynthia Jones’s Murderer Mother].” It revealed that Cynthia’s mother was Rachel Erwin, the prime suspect in a highly publicized husband-murder case three years prior. Online outrage erupted.
[How could a murderer’s daughter be the prime-time host?] [The murderer is her mother, not her. This has nothing to do with her job, okay?] [But she’s still the murderer’s daughter. If her mother killed her father, her mind would be messed up, right?] [Do I have to watch a murderer’s daughter deliver the news every day? I’d be traumatized.]
Within ten minutes, the vote dramatically shifted. Cynthia’s votes stalled; Lilian’s surged. Cynthia saw the live updates, realizing something was wrong, but maintained her composure and finished the broadcast.
Afterward, as Cynthia and Lilian left the studio, the staff’s expressions were hesitant.
“What’s wrong?” Cynthia asked.
Vince, the cameraman, replied, “Cynthia, you might want to check Twitter’s trending topics.”
Cynthia checked her phone. Her expression froze.
Carl, the assistant editor, cautiously asked, “Cynthia, is what they’re saying online true?”
Others crowded around.
“Cynthia, is your mother really Rachel Erwin?” “I heard you were at the scene when your mom killed your dad?” “Cynthia, you’ve never mentioned your family or parents before…”
“Stop bothering her; none of this is Cynthia’s fault,” Lilian interjected, a worried expression on her face. “Cynthia, are you okay? Don’t mind what they say online. Your parents’ lives don’t define yours.”
Her words, intended as comfort, only highlighted Cynthia’s connection to the murderer.
Cynthia switched off her phone, her gaze ice-cold despite her smile. “Lilian, is this because of you?”
Lilian looked shocked and hurt. “Cynthia, what are you talking about? I didn’t know about this until I saw the news.”
Cynthia’s smile intensified, her gaze colder. “It better not be you; otherwise, you know my temper.”
Lilian tried to explain, but Freddie intervened, his brow furrowed. “Cynthia, your family situation doesn’t reflect on you, but the backlash is severe. I have to consider the impact on RNN. For now, the prime-time host position goes to Lilian. We can reassess once this settles.”
Cynthia maintained her composure. “Alright, I’ll follow your arrangements.”
Freddie sighed in relief. “You haven’t taken a vacation in a while. I’m giving you a week off. Rest.”
Cynthia went straight to Greenfield Villa. Jonathan’s study light was on.
Jonathan sat at his desk in pajamas, engrossed in his computer, his fingers moving across the mouse. Cynthia’s first impression was the beauty of his hands. She boldly sat on his lap, leaning close. “What shampoo did you use today? You smell so good.”
Jonathan’s arm enveloped her. He sensed something was wrong. “Not in a good mood?”
Cynthia playfully nipped at his Adam’s apple. “Yeah, so I need some comfort.”
Usually, Jonathan would take the lead, but he stopped her hand from slipping under his shirt. “Is it because of the online posts?”
Cynthia was surprised. “The busy Mr. Bennett has time to surf the internet?”
Jonathan, one arm around her waist, clicked on his computer. “I found out who posted it. Take a look.”
Cynthia looked at the screen. A video showed a woman in a baseball cap posting something in an internet café—the very post that had launched the trending topic.
(SEND GIF)