THE BILLIONAIRES WIFE

0007

What could Olivia possibly be thinking, assigning such a significant role to someone so inexperienced? If she mishandles it, how much trouble would that bring?

A sea of dark silhouettes filled the space below, faces barely discernible. Only when the lights occasionally swept over the crowd did any clarity emerge.

The heiress of the Hayes Group herself!

And there... the star who has captivated half the world, the hottest sensation in entertainment.

They're all notable figures, each frequently headlined in tabloids.

Amelia watched as the light skimmed over their faces, one by one. As a journalist, she knew them well-not through any personal connection, but because of the endless scandals that relentlessly drew public interest. Today, someone else was caught leaving a nightclub; tomorrow, someone else was rumored to be involved with a celebrity...

"Now, please enjoy the opening performance!"

The host gestured towards Amelia, then turned and headed backstage.

Catching his cue, Amelia prepared to lead the models, but suddenly, a spotlight flashed past her and settled momentarily on a corner of the crowd for barely three seconds.

Yes, less than three seconds, but it was enough to send an icy chill down her spine. It felt as though weights were fastened to her feet, paralyzing her completely.

Thomas?

Did she... did she see Thomas?

Amelia instinctively doubted her own eyes, rubbing them until they grew red.

When she looked back in that direction, all she saw was a dense darkness; there was no trace of him anywhere.

No, she must have been mistaken. Her heart pounded violently, threatening to leap from her chest. She must be seeing things. How could he possibly be here?

He was likely sitting comfortably in his Sun International office, reigning above all others.

Wasn't this exactly what he wanted? If he'd simply asked, these things- trivial in her eyes-she would have gladly surrendered them to him.

"Amelia, what are you standing there for? The company didn't bring you here to daydream. Move along..."

Her earpiece crackled, the voice on the other end sharp and irritated, jolting Amelia from her reverie. She blinked her dry eyes, lowered the curtain in her hands, and headed towards the dressing room.

In the shadowed corner, a man leaned casually on his chair, swirling a glass of red wine. His gaze was intense, features sharply defined, carrying an air of pride mixed with nonchalance.

Henry stood behind him, breathing shallowly, beads of sweat trickling down his face.

"You're a minute late this time," Thomas said in a chilling tone.

Henry nearly lost his balance, barely stifling the urge to curse. Of course, he didn't dare. "Boss Thomas, it's the lighting. It's just so dim here..." he managed awkwardly. Thomas always played these games, vanishing upon arrival at an unfamiliar place and timing Henry's search to locate him.

"What do you make of this place?"

The topic shift was abrupt, catching Henry off guard. After a pause, he responded, "There are forty guards stationed at the entrance, each armed with a concealed handgun. Um... and..." Henry hesitated, grasping for more detail, yet found himself at a loss. These were the only remarkable points he'd noticed. How could he describe how lavishly the venue was decorated, or how many heirs and famous stars had gathered here?

"The hall is spacious, capable of accommodating one to two thousand..."

"Fool!" Thomas sneered, a mocking smile curving his lips. "I have eyes. Do you think I need you to tell me the obvious?"

A chill surged up Henry's spine. Since Thomas had rescued him from the gangs, he'd been training him. Yet his sluggish grasp had led to many reprimands from Thomas.

"Boss Thomas?"

Thomas took a slow sip of wine, raising his gaze lazily as he lifted his right hand.

"From the entrance to the hall, there are eight surveillance cameras, positioned in the corridors, by the bar, the chandeliers... The backstage is to the left of the entrance, the surveillance room to the right."

Henry's head drooped lower. There was no way he could match Thomas's level of awareness. It was strange, really. After years by his side, Henry had learned that Thomas was not only Sun International's CEO but also had deep connections to the underground. His martial prowess was exceptional, far from what one would expect from a typical wealthy heir.

Henry was continually amazed by Thomas's perception. In a room as dark as pitch, he could discern details others would overlook, inspiring both awe and fear.

"Following me yet lacking even this basic perceptiveness-what use are you to me?" Thomas's voice was cold.

"Thank you for the lesson, Boss Thomas," Henry replied with deep respect.

Thomas averted his gaze indifferently. The runway lights brightened slightly as the fashion show commenced. One by one, tall, graceful women in elegant, distinctive attire sauntered forward, swaying with elegance, exuding charm.

The refined music filled the hall instantly, and people murmured quietly, debating which ensemble was the finest or admiring a particular model's beauty.

Henry suppressed a sigh, murmuring to himself, "What a shallow bunch... though I suppose they're here for the show. Thomas, however, is here under the guise of watching the show but truly seeks to close a major deal."

The first wave of models had finished, making way for the second.

Thomas rubbed his temples with a wearied expression, barely concealing his impatience.

"How much longer?" he finally asked, his tone irritable.

Henry quickly bowed. "Boss Thomas, fifteen minutes more. And, Ethan has arrived."

Ethan?

Thomas stiffened slightly, a sardonic smile creeping over his lips, his gaze unreadable.

"So he's here? His father dares to entrust the family's generations-old legacy to him, unafraid he might squander it all?"

Henry remained silent. It wasn't that he had no response— he simply had none to give.

Ethan, the heir of one of the prominent families, had always clashed with Sun International. A year ago, at just twenty-one, he took control of his group, intensifying the rivalry with Sun International.

Though Thomas's eyes were on the models, his mind had drifted far beyond.

He remembered a boy who would always follow her, carrying her bag, buying her water. She often complained to him, "Ethan annoyed me today. I never want to speak to him again."

At that time, she was only a sophomore, her pout of frustration pricking his heart. He hadn't understood, but even at seventeen, he felt envy.

"I won't leave Amelia. She's used to having me walk her to and from school; she won't let me go."

The first time Thomas met Ethan, he merely wanted to see what kind of boy this was. Unexpectedly, Ethan's opening words were, "Leave Amelia."