I glanced at Anne, who pretended not to notice and continued: “You came back so suddenly without saying anything. Could it be because you heard…”
“Miss Turner, I’m sorry. I misspoke,” she cut herself off, seemingly realizing her blunder. But her panicked apology was clearly meant to encourage further misunderstandings.
Some bold reporter had already shouted out, “We heard that Ben Turner, chief designer at Turner Jewelry, and Nelson Peterson, CEO of Peterson Corporation, are both planning to propose to you. Ms. Miller, is this true or false?”
“Ms. Miller, if both Mr. Turner and Mr. Peterson propose at the same time, who would you accept?”
Anne avoided answering directly, “Well… those are just internet rumors for now. I hope everyone can be rational about this. Besides, Ben and Nelson are both wonderful people. We’re all good friends.”
The elevator opened at that moment. She bowed slightly with a smile and said, “I’m sorry, but I need to go upstairs to prepare for my speech at the Trada Corp bidding conference.”
She asked me politely, “Miss Turner, would you like to go upstairs together?”
I hesitated for just a moment, but when the reporters couldn’t get answers from Anne, they immediately turned their attention to me.
“Miss Turner, we heard that before you went abroad, you were obsessed with the CEO of Peterson Corporation. Did you suddenly return because you heard Mr. Peterson plans to propose to Ms. Miller?”
“We heard Mr. Turner is your brother. Miss Turner, would you welcome Ms. Miller into your family?”
“If Mr. Peterson really proposes to Ms. Miller, what will you do? Try to stop it or give your blessing?”
Their eyes were hungry like wolves, their heavy breathing full of greed and urgency.
Most reporters don’t care about the truth—they only want something sensational.
I knew if I didn’t respond, within an hour, all kinds of speculation about why I returned would be all over the internet.
Thinking of someone who tends to get jealous easily, I waved to Anne.
“In that case, I’ll go up first.”
Before the elevator doors closed, Anne’s lips curled into a mocking smile that only I could see.
I looked away and turned to face the reporters. Just as I was about to take out my invitation, an angry shout came from nearby.
“Linda Turner! Who said you could come here?
“Are you planning to steal Anne’s projects again, like you did three years ago?”
The cameras turned toward the sound. My former fiancé, Nelson Peterson, was striding toward me on his long legs, fuming with anger.
