Olivier left the kitchen, having just washed his hands, when the doorbell rang. He went straight to the door and opened it.

"Boss"

Gwenda breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Otto.

"What you asked for is done," Otto said. "They've left. Are you finished? Mr. Miller and the others are still waiting downstairs." They had come to the hotel for a banquet. Olivier was not only late, but he'd also texted him, requesting help in getting rid of some men near his room. It was baffling.

"Got it," Olivier replied, closing the door.

Gwenda, having just arrived, only heard the last sentence. Looking at Olivier, she said, "If you're busy, don't worry about me."

"Please accompany me," he said, taking her hand naturally.

Gwenda struggled to refuse.

"I just helped you," Olivier smirked. "Shouldn't you return the favor?"

Gwenda was puzzled. "Help you with what?"

"Getting unnecessary people off my back!"

"But I don't drink."

"You don't have to."

He opened the door and led her out.

Downstairs, in the private dining room, several company CEOs waited, tired and glum due to Olivier's absence. They'd sought him out to discuss a business partnership. Everything was prepared; even escorts were on standby. His absence was unsettling.

"Why is Mr. Petit gone so long? Did something happen?"

"Does anyone know where he is?"

After several inquiries, no one knew his whereabouts. Just as disappointment set in, the door opened. Everyone was overjoyed to see Olivier—until they saw Gwenda behind him. Shock rippled around the table.

Several CEOs, who had arranged escorts to impress Olivier, exchanged disappointed glances.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Olivier said calmly, leading Gwenda to the head of the table. A woman sat there. Olivier paused, gazing silently at her; she didn't react.

One CEO coughed. "Lisa, come sit here."

Lisa reluctantly stood, glaring at Gwenda before obeying.

Gwenda received an inexplicable glare and cursed Olivier inwardly. She understood his request. "He's using me to fend off a bevy of beauties! Bloody a**hole!" she thought.

After Olivier sat, several CEOs toasted him. Some women were curious about Gwenda, glancing at her and attempting conversation.

"Hi, I'm Snow. What's your name?"

"Gwenda Evans."

"I've never seen you before. Mr. Petit seems fond of you. What's your relationship?" Snow asked, smiling falsely, raising her wine glass.

Gwenda's mouth twitched. "Nothing much."

"Oh, I see." Snow's eyes brightened, and she stopped talking.

Throughout the meal, everyone had ulterior motives. The CEOs flattered Olivier to secure the partnership; the escorts vied for his attention. After much drinking, everyone was intoxicated.

Snow, swirling her wine, observed the unspoken distance between Olivier and Gwenda. She moved between them, her hand on the chair armrest. "Mr. Petit, a toast."

Olivier glanced at her wine, smiling. "Apologies, my girlfriend doesn't approve of drinking."

"Girlfriend?" Snow's smile froze. Staring at Gwenda, hatred flickered in her eyes. "Miss Evans is strict, then! What does one drink at dinner? Fruit juice?"

Olivier's eyes gleamed as he softly asked Gwenda, "Is fruit juice okay?"

Gwenda was stunned. "Why are you asking me?!" she thought.

All eyes turned to her. Gwenda, bracing herself, looked at Olivier's half-smile and said through gritted teeth, "Of—of course."

"Alright."

Olivier took a sip of fruit juice. An uproar followed; everyone scrutinized Gwenda. Snow returned to her seat, resentment evident. Gwenda felt unjustly targeted and overwhelmed by the intense stares.