Stephen Brooks gave the address, which was the Warner Manor far out in the western suburbs.

It was rush hour, and the roads were jammed. Susan Clark endured her stomach pain, transferring from subway to bus, then taking a taxi, and it took her an hour to finally reach her destination.

To say she wasn’t irritated would be a lie; along the way, she silently cursed Ian Shaw countless times.

Of all things, the place Stephen Brooks arranged for her was the lounge above the banquet hall. It was spacious and luxurious, yet completely empty, enough to magnify a stranger’s loneliness a hundredfold.

Susan Clark sat on the sofa, her legs swinging in time with the ticking of the wall clock, glancing around again and again, trying to keep herself from falling asleep.

But the wait was just too long. Several times, her head drooped like a pecking chick and she nearly dozed off, until the sound of the door opening startled her awake. Susan Clark sat up straight, looking toward the entrance.

Under the spotlight, a man strode in, the light growing brighter as he approached.

When Susan Clark saw who it was, her spirits instantly deflated.

It wasn’t Ian Shaw who had come, but his brother-in-law, Henry Quinn, now the second-in-command at Mingyu Group.

She had interviewed this man a few times before, so they could be considered acquaintances.

Henry Quinn also caught sight of Susan Clark as soon as he entered.

At first, she straightened her back abruptly, her bright eyes shining with excitement even in the dim light.

But the moment their eyes met, her gaze dimmed, and her whole demeanor seemed to wilt.

Henry Quinn paused, moved his phone aside and covered it, “What are you doing here?”

Susan Clark answered truthfully, “I’m here to wait for Mr. Shaw, there’s an interview today.”

Henry Quinn looked her up and down, his gaze lingering a few seconds on her pale face, but said nothing more, only muttering, “It’s so late,” before leaving.

Susan Clark sat for another two hours, which felt as long as two endless nights.

At some point, it began to rain outside, the drizzle tapping on the leaves, making a desolate “shhh” sound.

Occasionally, the sounds of the banquet downstairs drifted up—faint, but enough to imagine the lively scene.

By comparison, Susan Clark felt even more miserable.

Just as she was about to succumb to sleep, her eyelids drooping, her phone finally rang.

The crisp ringtone echoed in the empty room, bringing a sense of foreboding.

“Miss Zheng, sorry, the banquet here has ended, and Mr. Shaw still has other matters to attend to, so…”

As expected.

Susan Clark was silent for several seconds before replying, “I understand, thank you.”

The interview was, after all, not going to happen.

The moment Susan Clark stood up, her head spun dizzily. She steadied herself on the sofa for a while before stepping into the elevator in her high heels.

By the time she reached the gates of Warner Manor, as expected, the rain had already closed them off.

Autumn leaves and cold wind mixed with rain lashed at Susan Clark’s legs like knives.

She hadn’t expected to be outside for long today, and was dressed in her usual office lady suit and skirt. It looked formal and proper, but the thin sheer stockings were just for show, offering no real protection.

Her legs were bare beneath her coat, the skirt barely covering her knees, making her stand out in the cold wind even more than the luxury cars at the entrance.

Gradually, people began to come out. Susan Clark stepped aside, and when she turned her head, she realized that many of them were people she had interviewed before.

It seemed this was a gathering for the financial industry.

Susan Clark instinctively wanted to see if there was any chance of running into Ian Shaw.

But then she realized, she didn’t even know what he looked like.

Ian Shaw was known for being extremely low-key, rarely appearing in public. When Susan Clark was preparing her materials, she had searched online, but only found a few blurry figures of him in wide shots—no proper portraits at all.

——

After a while, the female CFO of an internet finance company, whom Susan Clark had met twice before, saw her pitifully waiting for a ride and offered to take her home, but Susan Clark declined.

Just now, Samuel Grant had said he would come pick her up.

It was now exactly eleven o’clock, with one hour left until his birthday was over.

She thought, no matter what, she still wanted to say “Happy Birthday” to him in person.

The parking corridor on the first floor was spacious and clean, and the guests’ cars were leaving one after another, their taillights flickering in the distance.

Soon, there were few people left in the banquet hall.

“Reporter Zheng?” A man approached.

Susan Clark turned to look—it was a senior executive from a capital firm whom she had only met once, but who often messaged her on WeChat.

The man walked up with a smile, getting very close, and reeked of alcohol as soon as he spoke: “Are you alone? Let me take you home.”

This man usually acted proper at social events, but now he skipped all pleasantries, his intentions obvious.

Susan Clark: “Thank you, but no need.”

The man moved closer, grabbing her arm, “Come on, it’s hard to get a cab in this rain.”

Susan Clark frowned, pulling his hand away. “Really, there’s no need, thank you. My boyfriend will be here soon.”