Chapter 6

Hugo's expression turned cold as he noticed Daphne's. Pointing at her with sausage-like fingers, he snapped, "Daphne Yeager! Who do you think you are? If it weren't for your face and Mr. Farrell, do you think you'd be where you are today? Ava tolerates you, but I don't buy that crap. I suggest you apologize to Ms. Smith immediately!"

In the blink of an eye, Hugo ingratiated himself with Wilson. Lowering his head obsequiously, he leaned toward Wilson, his entire demeanor a desperate attempt to align himself with the man. Every pore reeked of opportunism; his attitude was utterly repulsive.

What was laughable, however, was that Wilson didn't even glance at him despite Hugo's shameless flattery. To Wilson, Hugo was merely a tool for smoothing out troubles—not worth a moment's attention. Wilson remained silent, his expression unwavering and confident. He was certain Daphne would obediently apologize.

Daphne's sharp nails dug into her palms, thin streaks of blood seeping out, though she seemed oblivious to the pain. Her eyes burned with intensity as they locked onto Wilson's. How had she not seen his ruthlessness before? The tenderness and warmth he'd once shown her were now entirely redirected toward another woman. No matter how many times she'd mentally prepared herself, witnessing Wilson's methods always struck a nerve.

Her direct gaze furrowed Wilson's brows in impatience. Yvonne, standing nearby, sensed the tension. She gently looped her arm through Wilson's, her long hair cascading down to partially conceal her face. Her eyes radiated a delicate mixture of vulnerability and struggle; her tone was perfectly measured, making her appear understanding yet pitiful.

"Mr. Farrell," she said, "I know Daphne has never liked me. Perhaps this is all my fault. I'll take the scar on my face as a reminder." Yvonne had truly mastered the art of strategic retreat.

Daphne let out a cold laugh, then unreservedly exposed Yvonne: "Why do you always have to be everywhere? Can't help but pop up just to remind everyone you're nothing but a conniving little bitch, huh?"

A flicker of hatred crossed Yvonne's eyes as she bit her lip and retreated further behind Wilson. Wilson shielded her, his temple throbbing with irritation. "Daphne, watch your tone! If you keep up this stubborn attitude, don't blame me for being harsh."

Daphne's smirk grew more sardonic. She walked toward Wilson, staring at him without fear. "Wilson Farrell, do you even realize how ridiculous you are? When have you ever shown me any courtesy?"

Though smiling, her eyes were bloodshot, almost as if they were about to bleed. Straightening her posture, she spoke with deliberate precision: "Wilson, there's no way I'm apologizing to Yvonne, and don't even think about touching a single hair on Ava. Otherwise, don't blame me for burning bridges. Don't forget—we're still in the divorce cooling-off period. And you, Hugo Sanders, who do you think you are? You're just a spineless sycophant with a bloated belly! Don't bother firing Ava—we're firing you. I quit! Let's see how much money your pathetic company will make in a year without me as the face of it. Expect the termination notice soon!"

Her words were resolute, and for the first time, Wilson saw intense hatred in her eyes. Before he could respond, Daphne grabbed Ava and Wendy and walked out. Wilson watched her retreating figure with a fixed gaze, but he didn't chase her. For the first time, he felt that Daphne was different. She no longer resembled the clingy, dependent woman she once was; instead, she seemed like a resilient sunflower, unyielding and impossible to break.

Daphne left with composure and determination, but only Ava noticed the single tear she quietly wiped away—so quick it almost seemed an illusion. By the time they were outside the company, Daphne had regained her composure.

She turned to Ava, taking her hand. "Ava, I'm sorry. I just can't bring myself to bow down to Wilson. Apologizing to Yvonne would feel worse than dying. But don't worry—I won't let you lose your job. I'll figure something out."

Ava was stunned, gripping Daphne's hand. She wanted to speak, her lips trembling, but no words came out. She couldn't bring herself to tell Daphne not to worry. She had worked her way up from a modest background, and fighting Wilson alone was unbearable.

"Daph, thank you," Ava said softly, sighing. In the end, she still had no choice but to shift the burden back onto Daphne.

Daphne nodded. "Ava, I need to go. I have something important to take care of."

"Alright, take care."

"I will," Daphne responded calmly, got into her car, and drove off smoothly. Ava was about to remind her to watch out for the paparazzi, but a puff of car exhaust hit her face first.

Daphne wasn't in a good mood as she sat in the driver's seat. She gripped the steering wheel with one hand while calling Sebastian with the other. After what happened with Hugo, it was clear she and Ava could no longer work under Wilson. To survive in the entertainment industry, they had to strike out on their own. To protect themselves from Wilson's retaliation over the Yvonne incident, Daphne needed a powerful shield—and fast.

Sebastian, perpetually busy, didn't answer until her third call. His laid-back voice finally came through: "What can I do for you, Ms. Yeager?" Ever since learning about Daphne's divorce, Sebastian had insisted on addressing her formally.

His flippant tone made her want to curse, but she bit her tongue; she needed his help. Suppressing her irritation, she got to the point: "Mr. Turner, have you given any more thought to the partnership I mentioned?"

Sebastian paused, then deflected: "Are you in such a hurry, Ms. Yeager?"

Daphne rolled her eyes. Of course, she was in a hurry! Wilson was driving her into a corner because of that scheming bitch!

"Mr. Turner, I know there are two reasons you don't trust me: you doubt my loyalty and my capability." She took a deep breath. "Let me be honest—I had another fight with Wilson today, and my boss fired me to get on his good side. This means I'll have to terminate my contract with my current agency. I plan to start my own and register it under your name. All you need to do is publicly present it as your company. I'll give you equity and a share of the profits. With my current commercial value, you won't be losing any money."

It was essentially a gift—an effortless way for Sebastian to gain a stake in a company without lifting a finger. Pulling her car over, Daphne continued her pitch: "Mr. Turner, you're a businessman. Opportunities like this with such low investment and high returns don't come around often."

Sebastian chuckled softly. "Ms. Yeager, you certainly know how to sell an idea."

Ignoring his teasing, Daphne pressed on. "Mr. Turner, I just need a yes or no."

Sebastian hummed, his slightly raised tone hinting at a pleasant mood. "Sounds interesting. I don't see a reason to say no."