Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 66: Hard Work

Gianna flexed her numb fingers, reclining deeper in her chair, the leather sighing faintly beneath her weight.

Her eyes were tired too, aching in that dull, persistent way that came from staring too long at fine lines and details, just as her brain felt sluggish and overworked.

Worse? It was compounded with the beginning throb of a headache pressing behind her temples.

But that was to be expected, considering she had been working nonstop for the past five hours.

Make that six. She mused absently, lifting her wrist to check the time, blinking when the numbers confirmed it. Her lips pressed together in something close to resignation.

"Vance, go for lunch," she said to her partner in hard work, her voice firm but not unkind.

She could see him from across the room, hunched slightly over the table, straining himself to continue working—or rather, touching their designs with hands that had long since lost their precision.

When his tired gaze met hers, bloodshot and stubborn all at once, something tugged faintly in her chest. She was sorry for stressing him this way. Truly.

But she didn’t say it out aloud. He was the one who wanted the taste of success, who wanted to claw out of mediocrity. He might as well get the full treatment.

"I’m okay, Miss Gianna. I can work some more..." Vance said, though the dreary tone of his voice betrayed him.

Gianna shook her head slowly. Another hour of work, and he would just pass out right here. The brain needed refuel, unless migraines were sure to follow.

"Go and have lunch, Vance. It’s an order."

She watched as he slowly rose to his feet, the movement stiff. When he staggered and then blinked at himself in surprise, she snorted softly.

"You were saying..."

Vance had the grace to acknowledge that his boss, as always, was right. He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, and asked if she wasn’t going to lunch too. "I heard the chefs are going all out today..."

Gianna smiled faintly, waving him off with a loose flick of her wrist. "I’m okay. I have a packed lunch."

Florence had gone all out too. She had been doing so since the week started, clearly guessing just how immersed Gianna would be in work.

Deliveries around the clock were included—four hours apart—of fruits, warm meals, snacks. So much food that she ended up sharing with her secretary, with Vance, and with Mason whenever he popped in unannounced.

Vance chuckled. "Of course, miss. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes’ time."

"No," she said quickly. "Take your time."

Once Vance was out of the office and the door clicked shut behind him, she made a few more careful touches on the design she was working on, adjusting a line here, softening a curve there.

Then, with a loud exhale that carried all her fatigue with it, she dropped the pencil onto the desk. Time to eat!

She opened the lunch bag, and took out the neatly packaged flask and the bottle of water, shoulders relaxing as she leaned back.

She ate slowly, gratefully, enjoying a hearty lunch without the interruptions or constant noise that accompanied the company’s cafeteria.

That peace wasn’t meant to last.

A sharp knock sounded on her door, and before she could call come in—after squeezing her face briefly at the interruption—Mason’s head popped into view.

Gianna held back a sigh of exasperation. "Shouldn’t you be at the VIP tables at the cafeteria for lunch?" she asked dryly.

Mason shrugged, already taking the seat opposite her. "I already had lunch. Today has been very hectic."

Tell me about it, Gianna mused silently. Hectic didn’t even cut it, not with the convention just two days away.

"So," she said, lifting a brow, "why are you here then?"

"To invite you to dinner..."

Gianna frowned, ready to shut that down immediately, when Mason chuckled, confusing her further.

"No, that didn’t come out right. The family is having dinner—the Becketts and the Newmans... well, you have been invited as Noah’s girlfriend."

Gianna didn’t think she would ever get used to the bitterness that slipped into Mason’s tone so suddenly whenever her name and Noah’s were placed in the same sentence.

She sighed and took a measured scoop of her food. "We are not dating. I’ve said that countless times. You can pass the message to your family, since you’re the messenger."

Mason sneered. "You keep saying that, but you keep going on dinners with him."

Anyone listening would think she and Noah went on dinner dates every night, but it had been only just that once. Once.

"And the socials have yet to recover from the last pictures."

Gianna sighed again, and took another scoop. Somehow, someone had taken pictures that night—pictures that suggested anything but the mere friendship she shared with Noah now.

Yes, they were making rounds. Yes, they were gaining ground. But they were good for PR, and so she wouldn’t debunk it.

And even though Noah had claimed he didn’t need it, both his reputation and his company had been bolstered by it.

According to the comments, he no longer posed a flight risk. Apparently, dating her suggested permanence, roots in the country. A good thing for investors.

"Mason, it doesn’t matter. Just tell your father that I’m not interested."

Mason pursed his lips, watching her eat so unbothered, so composed, and wondered if there were ways to crack that armor she wore. Ways to unsettle her.

She was always too... put together.

He abandoned the thought and reclined into the chair, folding his hands across his chest. "I don’t think you have a choice."

Gianna frowned, her food momentarily forgotten. "Excuse me?"

But Mason stood up instead, walking out of the room, a smile curving his lips once he turned his back on her.

He had successfully rattled her.

Gianna’s frown deepened as the door shut. She had no choice? What did that even mean? Were they planning to bundle her into a car and force her to sit down for dinner?

She released a choked laugh and continued eating. Mason was probably teasing her.

She had just finished when another knock sounded on her door.

Closing the flask and depositing it back into the bag, she called for Lottie to come in.

But it wasn’t Lottie.

And it wasn’t Vance.

It was Esme.

This time, Gianna released a loud, unrestrained sigh—the kind that communicated clearly she was being disturbed.

Esme scoffed, shut the door behind her, moved forward, and dumped herself into the guest seat.

"Yeah, of course," Gianna said coolly, "make yourself comfortable."

The sarcasm in her tone was entirely lost on Esme.

"I heard that only our designs will be shown at the convention," Esme said. "Only the both of us were picked to represent the Becketts. I had half expected Vance to be picked too..."

So you would make a fuss and shout down the company? Gianna thought dryly. Arthur clearly knew his relative well enough.

"What do you want, Esme?" she asked flatly, going straight to the point. She needed the woman out of her space. The talkative was bad luck.

"For some reason," Esme said, crossing her legs, "my parents want to meet you. And I’m bound to invite you."