?<strong>Chapter 233:</strong>


    Feeling a sense of calm, she pulled herptop from her bag and opened the script she’d been working on.


    The coboration was nearingpletion, with only a few revisions left to finalize.


    A knock at the door broke her concentration.


    “Mrs. Norris, it’s ready,” Willow called from outside.


    “Bring it in,” Carrie said, setting herptop aside.


    The door creaked open, and Willow entered, carrying a tray.


    She ced it gently on the table beside Carrie, her movements careful and precise.


    “I just made these, Mrs. Norris,” Willow said, stepping back to let Carrie inspect the meal.


    The prawns glistened under the soft light, their aroma tantalizing.


    Carrie picked one up, its vor bursting across her tongue—sweet, tender, and well-seasoned.


    “It tastes good,” she said. “You can go. I’ll leave the tray by the door when I’m done.”


    Willow nodded. “Understood, Mrs. Norris,” she replied, her voice smooth.


    As she turned to leave, her eyes flickered toward the openptop screen on the sofa.


    Curiosity sparked, and she hesitated just long enough to pull her phone from her pocket.


    With a swift, silent motion, she snapped a photo of the screen, her lips curling in satisfaction.


    She slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.


    At Lise’s home, the air was thick with tension.


    Lise sat on the sofa, her nails digging into the cushions as hatred burned in her chest.


    Everything had been perfect. Nate had made it easy to cover her tracks.


    The storm, the ropes that bound her—but Carrie still survived.


    Somehow, she always survived.


    Elva moved around her, directing the maids with a sharp tone, but Lise barely noticed.


    The floor was a mess, with various expensive porcin and crystal ornaments reduced to shards.


    In that moment, Lise’s phone buzzed.


    It was a text message.


    Irritation flickered in her eyes as she reached for her phone.


    Opening the message and seeing the content, her eyes widened in shock and outrage.


    The script she had paid for was actually written by Carrie?


    Phone Two days had passed.


    Back on the bustling film set, Carrie found herself unable to stay away, returning to work sooner than nned.


    During a brief lunch break, Daxton made an unexpected appearance, d in a pristine white sports ensemble that lent him an effortlessly cool aura.


    His hair, tousled just so, enhanced his youthful, fresh-faced charm, reminiscent of a heartthrob from a teen drama.


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