PopularNovelChapter 1588:
“Of course you can react,” Brook replied, his voice sharp as winter frost. “But we can also ask you to leave. I'm
serious, Corrie. If you don’t want to be here, just go. No one’s forcing you to stay.”
Corrie’s face transformed into a battlefield of emotions before she finally managed to wrestle them into
submission.
Elyse, feeding off Corrie’s barely-contained rage like a shark scenting blood, felt her own satisfaction rise.
She caught Camille's eye as the latter studied the wine list, deliberately pointing to the priciest bottles. “Let's
get these.”
Camille's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Four bottles? Are you sure? That's a lot of wine.”
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Elyse waved off the concern with a dismissive laugh that cut through the air. “Oh, please. Four bottles is
nothing.”
Camille, realizing Corrie would be the one hemorrhaging money for their expensive taste, saw no reason to
object and placed the order with barely concealed glee.
The wine arrived moments later.
Corrie’s eyes widened as recognition struck—these weren't just any bottles, but the crown jewels of the
restaurant's collection, each worth a small fortune.
A shadow fell across her features, dark thunder gathering behind her eyes.
The volcano of her rage threatened to erupt, but the echo of her own grand proclamation—her insisted
generosity—froze the explosion in her throat.
Like bitter medicine, she swallowed her mounting fury.
Camille, savoring Corrie’s distress like a fine vintage, poured Elyse’s glass with theatrical grace.
Their crystal glasses met in a musical chime, a toast to their small victory as they sipped their liquid gold.
The evening blossomed into success—for most.
While others melted into their chairs, wrapped in the warm blanket of satisfaction and easy conversation, Corrie
sat apart from their contentment.
The jovial atmosphere pressed against her like a physical weight, each burst of laughter another stone on her
chest.
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Their genuine warmth and camaraderie twisted in her gut like a knife, their happiness a mockery of her isolation.
At last, the pressure becunbearable.
Corrie shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor like a discordant note.
“Brook,” she managed through clenched teeth, “I need to speak with you. Outside.”
Elyse cast a wary glance at Corrie, uncertain what mischief the latter might concoct next.
Meanwhile, Camille, her distress plain as day, interjected, “Corrie, can’t you just leave Brook in peace? Must his
discomfort be the price of your happiness?”
“Silence, you bitch!” Corrie roared, her fury breaking through her fragile restraint.
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