CHAPTER 44: CHAPTER 44: RAISE

When Leah Sutton arrived at the office, Jean Ellison happened to be away from her desk.

She walked to Jean’s desk and stared at the desktop. There was a natural wood-colored photo frame standing there, with a seven-inch photograph inside.

The child looked about four years old, with a cute round face and fair skin, wearing two small pigtails, like a little doll.

The dress she wore was Burberry children’s wear, the latest style of the year.

The more Leah looked at this child, the more it reminded her of someone, like Justin Holden.

"Editor-in-Chief Sutton?"

Jean returned from the restroom and saw Leah standing by her desk, staring at Jesse’s photo on the table.

Leah snapped back to reality, looked back at her, her eyes somewhat flustered.

"Oh, it’s you. Is this your daughter? How old is she? If you’re working at the company, who watches her at home?"

Jean looked at the photo on the table and smiled gently.

"It’s my daughter, she’s four."

"She’s with relatives for now. I’ll bring her back in a while."

Leah’s eyes turned. This child is four, five years ago Justin Holden had just broken up with Claire Caldwell, he couldn’t have been seeing two girlfriends at the same time, the timing doesn’t match, it can’t be his child.

"Rest assured, I won’t let the child interfere with work."

Jean reassured her repeatedly.

Leah smiled a bit, nodded, and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I was just asking casually, no need to be so nervous. Everyone acknowledges your work capability; that news piece a few days ago was well done, the video we released got tens of millions of hits, you really did a great job. I’ll treat everyone to a meal when we have time."

Colleagues at nearby desks overheard their conversation and chimed in happily: "Thank you, Editor-in-Chief. Thank you, Miss Ellison."

With the company’s performance on the rise, next month we won’t be at the bottom anymore, we might even break into the top three.

The company felt lively at last, no longer lifeless, even the usually grumpy Editor-in-Chief Sutton was chatting and joking with the staff.

This was all thanks to Jean and Vic.

"Where’s Vic?"

"No idea, he took the day off, said he had something to do."

Jean didn’t ask further questions. She sat down, opened her computer, and casually browsed this year’s hot topics.

As a reporter, you have to stay updated on social trends, especially at a privately-owned media company like theirs.

Among the top ten trending topics, one was about a multimillionaire searching for his son for years, finally finding his biological son with the help of the police.

Jean didn’t pay much attention, her finger swiped the mouse, clicked on the news above it.

Sitting next to her, Ms. Shaw suddenly turned her chair to face Jean.

"Reporter Ellison, I’m taking my kid back to my hometown tonight, could you do an interview for me?"

As she spoke, she placed a thick stack of materials on Jean’s desk, about thirty to forty pages thick.

"Sure, Ms. Shaw."

Jean agreed, thinking she didn’t have any plans for the evening anyway.

After work, she dialed the phone number of the person in the news, a middle-aged woman who insisted on meeting for the interview at a three-star Michelin restaurant.

"Alright, Mrs. Thorne, I’ll be right there."

"Don’t call me Mrs. Thorne, call me Miss Cameron. I’m getting a divorce, it’s bringing me bad luck."

"Alright, Miss Cameron."

Jean only knew that the person she was going to interview today was a rich woman, but she didn’t know exactly who she was. Ms. Shaw said all she needed to do was follow the interview script, use a recording pen, and not worry about anything else.

At the restaurant.

Mrs. Thorne was dressed in luxury from head to toe. The jade bangle on her wrist was imperial green, and the bag placed beside her was a Himalaya crocodile skin with a diamond buckle.

The interview script was written by Ms. Shaw, very standard. Jean asked through it once, feeling something was off.

"According to your husband, you’re having inappropriate relationships with a barista from a certain internet sensation shop and a personal fitness trainer. What do you have to say about that?"

This question was added by Jean herself.

Netizens don’t care about the division of assets in a divorce case. No matter how it’s divided, it’s not like they’ll get a share. They’re more interested in the gossip, wanting to know what these rich people’s private lives are really like.

"Are you implying I had an affair?"

"Can that even be called an affair? I’m just looking for men to chat and have drinks with, to speak my heart. I’m just friends with them."

"Can a married woman not have male friends?"

Jean shook her head, explaining, "You just need to answer my questions normally, there’s no need to counter-question."

"Reporter Ellison, you’re still young, you don’t understand these things. Is there any married woman who isn’t empty inside? Men are useless after twenty-five, yet they still play outside. I’m left alone in a 500-600 square meter empty house with no one to talk to."

The woman spoke as she patted her chest, her words heartfelt.

Her husband ran a nightclub, always surrounded by young and pretty women. When he came home to her, he had no interest at all.

When a man is full from eating out, no matter how delicious the home-cooked meals, he can’t stomach them.

"Tell me, does this count as an affair? He’s indifferent to me, making me a living widow at a young age. The spiritual torment is real. I find young, strong men to share my thoughts, at the most, it’s self-defense."

"Do you understand self-defense? I’m justified."

Her voice grew louder, drawing the attention of the people in the restaurant towards them, making Jean blush with embarrassment.

In the corner, sat a man with a straight back, maintaining an inch of distance from the back of the chair.

His shoulders were broad, the black suit stretched over them in a tight contour. His neck was taut, chin slightly taut, Adam’s apple clearly defined yet restrained.

His arms relaxed at his sides, elbows forming a precise right angle, resting on the dark wooden armrest.

His broad palm lay flat, the long fingers slightly curved, casting shadows on the armrest. His five fingers spread naturally, completely still.

His long legs were positioned at a deliberate angle, firmly planted on the ground. The lines of his thighs were tense under the sharp, polished suit pants, the thin-soled leather shoes gleaming.

The restaurant’s lights poured down from above, illuminating half of his handsome profile, the brow casting a stern shadow, the nose high and straight, thin lips pressed into a flat line.

"Justin, what are you looking at?"

Leah noticed the untouched steak beside him, followed his gaze to a woman’s back.

"Nothing."

Justin Holden withdrew his gaze, his tone indifferent and devoid of emotion.

He clasped the slender stem of the wine glass, tilting it slightly, the dark red liquid sliding towards his thin lips.

Leah leaned forward to look, squinting a bit.

"Looks like one of my reporters, it really is Jean Ellison, and the one sitting across from her is Mrs. Thorne."

"This must be the divorce case of the Celestial Spire’s owner, isn’t this the news Ms. Shaw has been tracking all along?"

She glanced at her phone, sure enough, there was a leave message from Ms. Shaw.

Leah slapped the phone on the table, a bit angry, and said to Justin Holden.

"When I’m not keeping an eye on the office, they make trouble, one after another. It’s either something at home today, or a sick child tomorrow."

"With such an attitude towards work, they still think about a raise."

The word "raise" made Justin Holden frown.

He thought of how Jean Ellison once risked her life sneaking into Celestial Spire to investigate government officials.

Raising his eyelids, his cold eyes fell onto her face.

"You don’t need a raise, your uncle’s company, you went straight in as branch Editor-in-Chief."