Chapter 3 Drafting Her Resignation Report

Bryson Foster, the assistant, stared at his phone in shock after the call abruptly ended. His heart raced for a moment, but he quickly snapped into action, rushing to the front desk.

Katherine had always treated him with kindness, and he couldn't just abandon her when she needed him most.

Moments later, the blaring siren of an ambulance pierced the air outside the hotel.

Still at the reception, Bryson was trying to get Alfred's room number from the receptionist when he noticed the medical staff rushing by with a stretcher.

A chill of dread washed over him, and he instinctively followed them.

The elevator dinged and stopped on the twenty-third floor.

Bryson was the first to dash out, his heart in his throat. Relief flooded him when he saw Katherine standing in the hallway, looking composed and unharmed.

The medical team bypassed Bryson and headed straight for Katherine.

She pointed to a room and muttered something to them, and they rushed in.

A short while later, Alfred was wheeled out, draped in a bathrobe, gripping his throat and gasping for air, his face so swollen it was almost unrecognizable.

As the medical team hurried away, Bryson stood frozen, wide-eyed. "Katherine, what happened?"

"Mr. Jones had an allergic reaction to mangoes," she replied, her voice calm.

Bryson frowned. "How could that happen? Didn't he know to avoid mangoes?"

Katherine dropped her gaze, hiding the brief flash of coldness in her eyes, and smiled, offering no reply. That was her strategy to avoid his advances, carefully orchestrated behind the scenes.

"Did you secure the deal?" Bryson asked.

Katherine held up the folder in her hand, the one containing the signed contract, and gave him a satisfied nod.

The next day, Katherine sent a bouquet to the hospital for Alfred, a small token of her "concern," before heading back to Sacford with Bryson.

During the ride, Bryson began, "Katherine, I was really concerned about you after Mr. Jones whisked you away last night, so I called Mr. Murphy immediately..."

He froze, realizing he had said more than he intended.

His eyes darted nervously to Katherine's face.

Her smile stiffened.

So, Vincent knew she had been taken by Alfred?

A cold wave of bitterness crept through Katherine, settling in her chest and spreading to her limbs.

The alcohol from last night also began to gnaw at her stomach, dulling the pain with its own sting.

Bryson, noticing her change in demeanor, quickly turned away, pretending to sleep, silently regretting his slip-up.

He'd been with the company for less than six months, but he had already picked up on the secret between Katherine and Vincent.

Soon, the rhythmic tapping of keyboard keys broke the silence beside him.

Katherine was drafting her resignation letter.

As her fingers moved, her mind wandered back five years, to when she had first become Vincent's personal secretary.

It was a dinner meeting that would alter the course of everything. Vincent had brought her along, but halfway through, he excused himself to handle something urgent.

Much like the night before, the business partner at the table seized the opportunity, attempting to take advantage of the intoxicated Katherine and drag her to his room.

Before things could escalate, Vincent had burst back in, knocking the man down with one swift punch, and then whisking Katherine away.

At that time, her younger brother's surgery had just failed, leaving her drowning in a whirlwind of despair. Overcome with emotion, she clung to Vincent's expensive suit, her body trembling as she sobbed uncontrollably in his arms, seeking solace in the only anchor she could find.

Vincent had been so patient, soothing her with the words, "It's okay now. Don't be afraid. This won't happen again."

That night marked the beginning of their secret relationship—outwardly a superior and subordinate, but behind closed doors, something far more intimate.

As Katherine typed the final period, an ache in her stomach reminded her that nothing felt quite right. She couldn't tell whether it was the alcohol or something else.

Before returning to the office, she made herself stop by the pharmacy downstairs, thinking a quick grab of painkillers would be just what she needed.

"Take one at a time, and no alcohol after," the pharmacist advised kindly. "Also, don't take it if you're pregnant."

Katherine's heart skipped a beat at the mention of pregnancy.

Her period was three days late.

Her fingers tightened around the painkiller box. "Could you also get me a pregnancy test?" she asked, her voice steady despite the sudden rush of anxiety.