?<strong>Chapter 160:</strong>


    Carrie hesitated before epting the bag, muttering a soft “Thank you.”


    Oliver seemed relieved, nodding in approval, and offering a few words offort before he turned to leave.


    “What do you think of Oliver?” Carrie asked casually, eyeing Beverly with curiosity.


    “He seems nice enough,” Beverly replied with a shrug.


    “Just nice?”


    Carrie raised an eyebrow but let it go, her attention shifting to the food Oliver had brought.


    Beverly, however, seemed more interested in inspecting the contents. The ceramic jar holding the soup was elegant and sturdy, exuding a quiet luxury.


    “This definitely isn’t from the local restaurant!” Beverly eximed, her face lighting up. “Carrie, Mr. Norris is really nice to you. A wealthy, handsome CEO doting on you? That’s the dream.”


    Carrie’s lips curled into a faint, wry smile. “These things are easy for someone with money. For people like him, it’s the simplest gesture.”


    Beverly paused, considering her words. “You’re right,” she said thoughtfully. “Still, I heard he once carried Lise to the hospital and stayed by her side the whole time when she was sick. Even with everything he did for her, though, he couldn’t avoid being… well, a man.”


    She had intended to generalize, but as a certain face shed in her mind, her words faltered.


    Looking at Carrie with a sudden burst of admiration, Beverly added, “You’re so sensible. No wonder Asher respects you so much.”


    Carrie forced a smile, shifting the subject. “Have you eaten? There’s too much food for me alone. Join me?”


    Was she truly sensible? If she were, she wouldn’t have let herself stay in such a precarious, humiliating position. If she were, she wouldn’t have hesitated when their one-year agreement ended.


    After lunch, Beverly headed off to work, leaving Carrie alone in the quiet room. Luckily, the knockout drug she had been subjected to was mild, leaving nosting effects. A mix of hydration, rest, and a hearty meal had her back to her usual self in no time.


    After a refreshing shower, she slipped into a clean, modest long-sleeved nightgown. Settling against the headboard, she retrieved the script for Agarwood and began rehearsing her lines with quiet determination. Seeing the story she had penned through an actress’s lens brought fresh revtions, as though she were peeling back theyers of her own work to uncover hidden truths.


    Time, as it often does when one is immersed in creativity, flew by. Before she realized it, the sun had bowed out for the day, ceding the stage to the deep hues of twilight. The pitter-patter of heavy rain began outside, shrouding the room in a cocoon of solitude, making it feel like an isted ind adrift in a stormy sea.


    Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. Assuming it was Beverly or perhaps Asher bringing dinner, she padded to the door with the script still in hand, her thoughts elsewhere. But when she opened it, she was met with an entirely unexpected sight.


    Kristopher stood there, rain-soaked and brooding. Her brow furrowed as she lowered the script, blurting out, “Why is it you?”


    .


    .


    .