The morning eting at the QUEEN Entertainnt's conference room was abruptly interrupted when the doors flew open with a loud bang against the wall. Startled, everyone's heads turned towards the entrance to see Theodore standing there, his brooding presence sending chills down their spines.
Phoebe knew Theodore's expressions like the back of her hand, and the look on his face spelled trouble for her. Hastily, she announced, "That's enough for today's eting, everyone. You're dismissed."
As the attendees respectfully greeted Theodore on their way out, John quickly shut the conference room door behind them.
Tossing her pen onto the table with an air of defiance, Phoebe cocked an eyebrow at Theodore. "Mr. Reynolds, you must have a reason for interrupting our eting."
Theodore's approach was slow and deliberate, each step a heavy weight on Phoebe's chest. She fought the urge to flee, instead lifting her chin to et his furious gaze.
"Phoebe," he towered over her, "I'll ask you one more ti, why were you crying earlier?"
Phoebe scrunched her brow, confused. "Didn't I tell you I missed my dad..."
Before she could finish, Theodore had grasped her throat, lifting her onto the conference table with a forceful grip. Stepping forward, his sinister eyes bore into hers, his long, powerful fingers tightening. "Do you have a single shred of truth in you, Phoebe?" he thundered with rage.
Struggling to breathe, Phoebe opened her mouth, gasping for air.
Theodore leaned in closer, his voice icy, "Have you lost your mind over wanting a divorce, even daring to spin tales to my father? Do you think his intervention would make set you free?"
"I didn't..." Phoebe's cheeks were red from the lack of oxygen, utterly baffled by the man who had just gently wiped away her tears monts ago was now so cruel and different. "You can stop dreaming!" Theodore's heart was ablaze with the fury of her deceit. "Phoebe, I won't let you off. In my book, there's no such thing as divorce, only widowhood."
Phoebe was speechless...
Theodore gave her a forceful shove that sent her sprawling across the conference table. A rush of fresh air filled her lungs as she lay there, coughing until tears stread down her face. Without sparing her another glance, Theodore spun on his heel and stord out, slamming the door behind him.
Phoebe closed her eyes for a mont, letting the tears flow unchecked. She couldn't understand why Theodore had suddenly lashed out in anger. Perhaps Brandon had said sothing to him-made him believe that she had gone to Brandon's office to beg for a divorce.
She clenched her teeth, a cold chill settling in her heart.
It seed that divorce was Theodore's Achilles' heel; any ti she ca close to it, he'd make her life a living hell.
John peeked around the corner, concerned. "Miss Ziegler, are you alright?"
Phoebe wiped the tears from her face and got up from the table, thankful that she had decided to wear slacks today - they spared her so dignity. "I'm fine. Just give a mont alone," she said.
John hesitated, then softly closed the door and stood guard outside.
It was a while before Phoebe finally opened the door and stepped out. Seeing John still at his post, she said calmly, "You don't have to stay here."
John glanced at her, noting that while her eyes were still red, her composure had returned. "Marry returned our call," he inford her. "I took the liberty of setting up a eting for 2:30 this afternoon at the coffee shop." "Okay. Send the address, and I'll be there this afternoon," said Phoebe.
John gave her another look, and this ti his eyes caught sight of a stark red mark on her neck, shaped unmistakably like a handprint. He stood there, shocked and speechless.
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