CHAPTER 22: CHAPTER 22: THE FINAL THREE MONTHS

Julian Fairchild was momentarily stunned, his heart seemingly gripped tightly by a large hand.

"But things that don’t fit are bound to end one day, just like me and this role, just like me and you—"

He heard Maeve Lane’s voice, devoid of any emotion.

"Luckily, we only have three months left."

"Beep beep beep—"

"Julian? Give me your phone, I’ll hold it for you."

Maeve hadn’t spoken to him so firmly for a long time.

This also meant that she was really angry.

Julian gripped the phone tightly, his face frosty, "Let Miles Hughes come in."

"Hughes went to the company, there’s a contract he needs to discuss today..."

Miles Hughes was Julian Fairchild’s special assistant; if Julian was too tied up with filming, all company matters were handed over to him.

"Call him back!"

The staff noticed Julian’s tone turning cold, clearly angry, and dared not delay, promptly responding: "Okay, I’ll call Hughes back right away!"

People waiting to apply Julian’s makeup all had bewildered expressions.

Best Actor Fairchild had never been so dark-faced, what was happening today?

Miles rushed back from the company!

What’s a contract worth two billion compared to the orders of the young master!

When he walked into the lounge, he immediately saw Julian Fairchild standing by the window, his gaze uncertainly drifting somewhere.

Miles surprisingly saw a trace of loneliness on the young master.

Impossible, surely a trick of the mind.

Someone like him, a darling of the heavens, what could possibly make him feel sad?

Casting away the thoughts in his mind, Miles spoke, "Young Master, you called me, what is it?"

Julian opened his eyes, his voice icy, "I asked you to speak to her, and you didn’t?"

Miles hesitated for a moment, then suddenly reacted, slapping his forehead, "Too many things going on, I forgot, I’ll clear it up with the young mistress right now!"

The man by the window turned his head away, coldness in his tone unabated.

"If there’s a next time, no year-end bonus."

Miles internally wailed, but quickly agreed aloud, "Got it! From now on, I’ll prioritize the young mistress’s matters! Won’t forget!"

Julian said no more, his silence considered tacit approval.

—

Sarah Sutton received a call, heading to a Chinese restaurant to find Maeve Lane.

Maeve had already ordered food, gestured to the seat opposite her with her eyes, "Sit down, let’s eat, I’ve ordered the pig stomach chicken you like."

Sarah’s eyes lit up hearing it, but quickly dimmed again, "Didn’t you say you were going to ’clear things up’? How come you’re eating here?"

Maeve’s hand holding the wine glass didn’t tremble at all, speaking blandly: "Hungry, so I ate, no need for so many reasons."

This wasn’t a fancy restaurant, with people coming and going, a lively occasion, but Sarah felt as if Maeve at this moment was using these things to cover her inner restlessness.

She didn’t want to bring up those matters again; earlier, she called not only to find an explanation but was mocked instead.

This group of people indeed gauged the direction of the wind; when she managed those popular artistes before, they scrambled to cozy up, but now not even a perfunctory excuse, just hanging up the phone.

"It’s raining outside," Maeve murmured.

She made a childish gesture, gently placing her long forefinger on the window, as if painting a picture, or perhaps tracing someone’s name.

"We should celebrate all were saved

I fell into a trap of wild thorns

Once firmly believed this was love

Upon witnessing your unexpected ways

Until you said welcome at last..."

Sarah saw Maeve’s phone ringing, instinctively glancing at it, only to see Sylvia Lane’s name!