Chapter 94: Anytime, Anywhere
Since Vivienne's departure from Mitchell Group, she had become a complete mystery. Even the surveillance footage documenting her movements had been meticulously erased, leaving no trace. Warren's brow furrowed, a nagging suspicion brewing. Could Vivienne be harboring a secret that had eluded his keen perception?
He turned to his assistant, his voice sharp. "What did Mason King from Sinclair Group report?" The words hung heavy with unspoken implications.
The assistant, sensing the gravity of the situation, replied carefully, "Mason mentioned a reassignment to another branch, with no immediate plans to return…" An invisible chill seemed to permeate the office, transforming it into an arctic landscape of unspoken tensions. After a moment's hesitation, the assistant added softly, "Mr. Mitchell, it's time for the meeting."
Warren responded immediately, gripping his phone as he strode toward the meeting room.
In contrast to Warren's intensity, Vivienne felt remarkably serene. Her eyes opened, scanning the room before settling on Derek's recumbent form on the sofa. A fleeting moment of surprise crossed her features; she had half-expected him to take advantage of their situation. A chuckle escaped her lips.
Derek remained an enigma. He could be domineering and forceful, yet at critical moments, he maintained a careful, almost gentlemanly distance. His complexity was magnetic, capturing the most vulnerable part of her heart, rendering her resistance futile.
Composing herself, Vivienne rose and retrieved the thermometer. She approached Derek quietly, crouching to check his temperature. Relief washed over her as she saw the reading: 97.7 degrees Fahrenheit.
"Finally, the fever's gone," she whispered.
"Feeling reassured now?" Derek's voice, soft and velvety, broke the silence. His eyes opened slowly, revealing a deep, captivating gaze.
Vivienne's eyelashes fluttered. "Sometimes the best medicine is the most difficult to swallow," she replied. "Regardless of how much you dislike it, taking medication on time is crucial for your health."
"Did Vanessa tell you that?" Derek asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat up.
She nodded. "Vanessa is genuinely concerned about you."
His gaze intensified, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "What others tell you is rarely the complete story. If you want to truly understand me, why not ask directly?" His voice, smooth as velvet, was rich with unspoken promise.
Vivienne studied him. His pristine pajamas were slightly wrinkled, and tousled hair fell across his forehead, lending him a rugged appeal.
"In that case," she responded playfully, "should I spend several nights compiling an exhaustive list of questions to interrogate you?"
Her curiosity ran deep. Her intuition whispered that his identity—CEO of Brighton Group, owner of Celtis Estate—was merely the tip of a far more complex iceberg.
Derek's response was a low, melodious chuckle. He reached out, tenderly tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, his eyes radiating pure indulgence. "I'll share everything you wish to know," he promised, "without reservation, anytime, anywhere."