Christine whispered with a hint of worry, "Are you sure about this? Rupert''s wine collection is no joke in terms of price, right?"


    Bridgetughed off the concern casually. "Oh, Rupert takes me here all the time and always insists I help myself to anything. I don''t really pay attention to the prices, but I remember once I knocked over a bottle and it was, what, around fifteen thousand? Rupert didn''t fuss over the cost; he was more worried about me getting cut by the broken ss." "Wow, just casually dropping in a humble brag there. Can we all just take a moment to thank our generous hostess?" a colleague joked.


    "Thanks, Bridget," everyone chimed in, half-jokingly.


    "Stop it, you guys. I''m going to stop talking now," Bridget said, her face turning a bashful shade of pink, the picture of a shy young woman asserting her territory. Yet, her sideways nces were firmly fixed on Sylvia.


    Sylvia, catching the nces, offered a forced smile along with her colleagues. As if she cared about Rupert''s attention or about being the future bossdy.


    Then, Christine sidled up to Sylvia with a grin. "Gotta admit, I''m a bit jealous of Ms. Simpson. But you, Sylvia, you probably don''t care, right? Your boyfriend must treat you just as well."


    "I don''t have a boyfriend," Sylvia rified.


    "But your neck..."


    "Dog bite."


    Sylvia muttered the exnation under her breath and quickly made her way to find a seat.


    When the server arrived with the wine, he made a point of introducing its variety, origin, and, of course, its hefty price tag in front of everyone.


    "A 2016 bottle of Romanée-Conti, priced at thirty thousand."


    Everyone gasped, their hands gripping their sses a little more cautiously.


    Bridget, seemingly ustomed to such extravagant disys, waved her hand dismissively. "Please, don''t be shy. Drink up."


    This led to a round of toasts directed at Bridget, and soon enough, those with a lower tolerance for alcohol were showing signs of tipsiness, their inhibitions significantly lowered. "Ms. Simpson, didn''t Rupert say he''d join us? Why isn''t he here yet?" someone slurred slightly.


    Bridget, leaning on her hand and looking a bit tipsy herself, said, "If he were here right now, we wouldn''t be able to enjoy ourselves and drink freely like this. So, I told him toeter." With that, she pulled out her phone and dialed, her actions drawing a hush over the table. All eyes were on her- except Sylvia''s, who was preupied with her meal.


    The Paradise Pavilion truly lived up


    to its reputation, not just for its breathtaking view but also for its exquisite cuisine. If not for Bridget, Sylvia wouldn''t have had the chance to indulge in such an expensive treat on her own.


    Across the table, noticing Sylvia''s enthusiasm for the food, Bridget deliberately raised her voice.


    "Rupert..." Bridget''s voice dripped with sweetness, "you cane over now."


    The colleagues almost got a toothache from how sharine her tone was, yet envy still shone in their eyes despite the sweetness.


    Bridget bit her lip softly and whispered into the phone, "I had a bit to drink, don''t worry. If I get too drunk, I have you, right? Don''t... like before... mmm..."


    Her eyes, wide with a feigned panic, nced around the table before she covered her mouth, deciding to say no more.


    The implications were clear to everyone, especially given Bridget''s flushed appearance. Some of the singles at the table felt awkward listening to the conversation.


    Sylvia, however, was more


    interested in her dish of surf and


    turf, marveling at how delicious it was. So engrossed was she in her meal that she didn''t even notice Bridget got up and staggered over to her side.


    "Be quick, okay? I''m waiting."


    Sylvia almost gagged.


    Before Sylvia could recover from her surprise, Rupert pushed open the door to the private dining room.


    His arrival was so prompt, it was as if he had been waiting just outside.


    Dressed casually in a khaki trench coat, a ck turtleneck sweater underneath, and dark gray trousers, his simple yet sophisticated attire did nothing to hide his imposing aura.


    As Bridget leaned into his embrace, she cooed, "Rupert, I''m feeling a bit sleepy. Take me home?"


    The phrase "take me home" couldn''t have been more aptly used.


    The moment Rupert entered, everyone stood up to greet him. "Mr. Rupert Garcia."


    He acknowledged them with a nod, his gaze eventually finding Sylvia, who was still focused on her meal.


    As Rupert escorted Bridget out,


    Sylvia felt a momentary sense of


    relief, until Christine leaned in with a


    smirk. "Sylvia, you and Rupert are matching with your ck


    turtlenecks. Though, he''s probably


    not using his to cover up a dog bite, huh?"


    Sylvia nearly dropped her fork.


    Behind her, Rupert''s gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he finally turned to leave, his expression unreadable.