Chapter 3 Humiliation

I was convinced I could feel Jaxton's furious, resentful gaze piercing me.

Yet, when I mustered the courage to look up at him, he was looking elsewhere.

No way-did I really just hallucinate that?

Without acknowledging my presence, he marched over with a purposeful stride, his cold gaze locking onto Carl, who was uncomfortably close by. That stare was so cold, it sent shivers down my spine.

Silence engulfed the room the moment he entered; everyone was visibly stunned by his appearance.

Carl, masking his surprise with a contrived smile, rose eagerly, his tone dripping with flattery. "Mr. Saunders, your presence here is unexpected."

I was taken aback by his reaction. Moments before, Carl had commanded the room, unchallenged.

Now, he seemed to recoil, as if desperately seeking Jaxton's approval, his expression riddled with fear.

Who was Jaxton, really?

All I knew was his name and that his lavish attire hinted at immense wealth. Beyond that, he remained an enigma.

It was undeniable-I had completely underestimated him.

"Mr. Reed, I understand your company is representing a promising book, and you're interested in discussing a potential film adaptation with my company," Jaxton stated, his voice devoid of emotion.

Carl's grin widened further. "Oh, you really didn't have to come all this way for such a trivial matter," he said eagerly. "Please, Mr. Saunders, take a seat. What would you like? I can have it brought over right away."

Sitting close to Carl, I rose to give Jaxton space and found myself directly in his imposing presence.

Perhaps it was the difference in our heights, but he towered over me like a looming thundercloud.

"And this must be... your secretary, Mr. Reed?" Jaxton inquired, scrutinizing me as if I were a complete stranger, his smirk broadening. "You have a keen eye for a pretty little bimbo, Mr. Reed."

His barb was clear to all; subtlety was not his forte.

Carl chuckled awkwardly, quick to set the record straight. "Actually, this is Miss Howard from United Media. She's here to finalize details of an advertising partnership."

"Oh? So this is the legendary director I've heard so much about," Jaxton sneered sarcastically, stretching the word "legendary" as if it was part of a worn-out joke.

I was no stranger to the rumors-they labeled me merely a decorative piece, an empty vessel, while my team carried the workload and I basked in unearned acclaim.

Benny had a habit of dragging me to every client dinner he attended, and as a result, whispers circulated that I had advanced my career by underhanded means for each contract United Media secured.

Jaxton's comment felt like a deliberate sting, echoing those demeaning rumors.

I maintained a facade of politeness, my smile fixed, as I responded with a veneer of graciousness, "I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Saunders." My voice was silky smooth.

I was on the verge of excusing myself to Benny when Carl, brimming with undue enthusiasm, cut in. "It's rare for a woman to catch Mr. Saunders' eye. Why don't you join him for a drink, Cathy?"

The constant insinuations were exhausting. Was there no respite from their expectations to socialize over drinks?

Benny's excitement was palpable; he seized two glasses and nudged me. "Come on, don't just stand there. Serve Mr. Saunders a drink," he urged.

I whirled around and gave him a look so fierce it could stop a heartbeat.

I'd worked myself to the bone for this company-hell, I once drank so much I nearly wrecked my stomach, all to sign a major client for him.

And yet, after all my efforts, Benny was willing to exploit me as if I were merely a commodity.

He was the epitome of a mercenary businessman, his eyes only registering profit, devoid of any human empathy.

Perhaps feeling a bit awkward because of my severe glare, Benny hastily picked up a bottle of wine and brought it over to me.

But the damn bottle meant nothing to me-I just wanted to get out of there.

"Seems you aren't exactly thrilled, Miss Howard," Jaxton observed, his voice smooth and nonchalant. "In that case, let's forget it."

He attempted to appear unfazed, yet anyone with a hint of insight could see he was irritated.

Oh, give me a break-he was irritated? I was seething!

He was well aware that I was pregnant and couldn't drink, yet he insisted. It was an utterly insensitive gesture.

Benny's expression shifted immediately. "Mr. Saunders, please don't misunderstand-Cathy's all in," he asserted, tripping over his words. "It's just that she's not feeling her best today."

Then he leaned closer, his voice a harsh whisper in my ear. "Do you realize who this man is? If you upset him, it's not just your problem-I'm in deep trouble too. Come on, it's just one drink. If you can win him over, forget the six-figure bonus-I'll make sure you get whatever you want."

That was the moment everything clicked.

The surname Saunders, Carl's eager discussion about a film deal, Benny's visible nerves-it could only be one person in Gruixtin.

The giant of the entertainment industry, the CEO of Saunders Group.

I could hardly believe that the man I'd been seeing casually for half a year-the same one I'd paid off with half a million to keep quiet-was actually him.

His motives for humiliating me now made perfect sense.

Yet, honestly, what did it matter?

So he was the titan behind the entertainment industry? The formidable Mr. Saunders? Why would I care one bit?

These arrogant fools assumed they could launch insults freely, but the moment someone retaliated, they recoiled as though mortally offended.

What gave them the audacity to parade around like they owned the world?

Frustrated and seething, I slapped the bottle from Benny's clasp, sending it crashing to the floor where it exploded with a resounding shatter. "I don't want to," I hissed, punctuating each syllable with fierce resolve.

A chilling silence enveloped the room. The weight of Carl's despair was almost palpable, suffocating the space with its intensity, yet it left me unfazed.

The only clarity in that moment was my own resolve: despite appearing insignificant or powerless, my dignity was a line drawn in the sand-absolute and unyielding.

"I am no one's puppet, nor am I a plaything for hire. If you wish to indulge in such loathsome, degrading escapades, count me out-I'm finished."

As I stood there, the remnants of my pride were the only fortress I had left. I couldn't muster the energy to care about anything else.

Leaving seemed like my only option. Worst case scenario, I'd abandon this nightmare and rebuild my life somewhere new, somewhere far from here.

Maybe the shock of my breakdown had left them all too stunned to react, because not a soul attempted to halt my exit as I stormed out of the room. I navigated my escape from that toxic space without any resistance.

However, as soon as I stepped into the hallway, the pent-up turmoil inside me erupted like a tsunami, violently churning my stomach.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, staggered into the restroom, and retched miserably into the sink.

As I vomited, a wave of profound injustice overwhelmed me.

I had poured my soul into my job, sacrificed countless nights to craft innovative pitches and proposals, only to be dismissed and belittled by these corporate predators.

Why? Was it just my pretty face to blame?

These arrogant fools thought they could undermine my hard work and reduce me to a mere object for their amusement.

The weight of what went down in that room crashed over me, and I couldn't keep it together anymore.

Tears streamed down my face, a salty cascade of hurt and frustration, as the stinging in my nose announced the onset of an uncontrollable cry.