Chapter 35

The empty corridor rang with the hollow sound of Yvonne's bitter laugh as she slid down the wall and sank onto the cold floor, her vision blurred by tears.

She kept rereading the news describing Julian's open display of affection to Rita, every word cutting through her until her heart felt frozen, the chill settling deep into her bones.

At last, the truth struck her-Julian hadn't hidden his marriage because he disliked publicity. He had simply never acknowledged her as his wife, which was why he never once revealed her existence.

She had no reason to doubt the report's authenticity.In three years of marriage, not a single photo of them had surfaced, and no media outlet would have dared print anything without Julian's explicit approval.

The dream she had clung to in vain for years, Rita snatched the moment she returned.

It was clear now-Julian couldn't even wait for the divorce to und before he rushed to bestow Rita with affection. Yvonne's chest felt crushed under the weight of that realization, her heartbreak so suffocating it left her reeling. If Julian truly adored Rita, why cling to their sham of a marriage?

He had always kept her at arm's length, letting her cling to fragile hopes only to grind them to dust himself. Was tormenting her some kind of cruel pastime for him?

The memory of Edwin's sneer flickered in her mind-his shifting manners now made sense.

Julian's demeanor during the interview must have convinced Brock she was Julian's wife, which explained the exaggerated respect. But with Julian's PDA now, she was nothing more than a miserable fraud.

Swiping away her tears, Yvonne gave a holow laugh at her own expense and pushed herself to her feet.

The truth was merciless: she had gained none of the privileges of being Julian's wife, only the pain that came with the title.

And really, what did it matter anymore? Divorce loomed, and whoever Julian chose to parade before the world was none of her concern. She reminded herself she was just another worker now.

With that thought, she squared her shoulders and prepared to head to the studio, ready to bury herself in menial tasks.

The studio was a whirlwind of clutter, light stands and cables strewn across the floor. Trevor Clayton, the photography director, hunched over his camera, fine -tuning the settings with practiced precision.

His assistant leaned closer, muttering with thinly veiled irritation, "Mr. Clayton, I heard some new hire with inside connections is getting dropped into our team.What are we supposed to do-work ourselves to the bone while babysitting them?"

Trevor, with his sharp features, barely looked up. His voice carried a cool detachment. "As long as they don't strut around acting like they know everything and screw up my work, they can do whatever they please."

That didn't soothe the others. Among the crew,resentment simmered. In this industry, directors and actors soaked up the spotlight, while the film crew hauled the weight in sweat and silence. Now, being asked to pamper some so-called connected newcomer felt like an insult.

Whispers of mischief passed quietly through the team If this rookie dared step wrong, they'd make damn sure the punishment was hell to endure. Their hushed scheming cut short when the studio door opened.

Yvonne appeared, the picture of calm professionalism in a crisp white blouse. A faint, composed smile softened her delicate features. Pausing at the threshold, she rapped politely on the doorframe and spoke in a clear, melodious tone. "Excuse me, is this the photostudio?"

A sudden lightness swept through the studio, as if a clean breeze after rainfall had blown away the stale,heavy air.

The staff who had been whispering about making things difficult for her quickly replaced their scowls with eager smiles, stepping forward to welcome her with forced warmth.

Trevor alone stayed detached. He shot Yvonne a cool glance and answered with nothing more than a dismissive snort.

To him, she was nothing but another worthless beauty,someone who wouldn't survive two days in the grueling rhythm of the studio In the CEO's office at Powell Group, the air feltthick with tension. Morton and the PR director stood stiffly before Julian's desk, their heads bowed low like children bracing for a beating.

The PR director swiped the sweat from his forehead and stammered, "Mr. Powell, the PR team has already slowed the spread of the news and begun deleting related posts online..."

Sitting rigidly at the desk, Julian lifted his gaze with icy detachment, his face unreadable. "What I asked was for you to find out who fed the story to the media."

The PR director's head bobbed rapidly, not daring to draw a full breath.

Julian's brows knitted, his voice carrying a quiet weight. "Enough. Go deal with it."

Relieved to be dismissed, the PR director wasted no time in making a quick escape.

Morton lingered, glancing at Julian with hesitation before venturing carefully, "Mr. Powell, do you plan to explain these rumors to Mrs. Powell?"