?Chapter 166:


    In fact, he hadn’t shown his face in weeks.


    Thevish gestures—the flowers, the midnight snacks, the small indulgences—had all disappeared.


    Nightclub regrs weren’t naive; they could see that Hadley had escaped Eric’s notice. Even if that weren’t the case, some of them couldn’t resist giving it another try.


    After a quiet spell, admirers began creeping back into the picture. Tonight, when Hadley stepped into the dressing room, the space was overflowing with flowers.


    “Hadley, you’re here!”


    Lennon sauntered over, his grin wide as he gestured at the floral spectacle. “Look at this. Our Hadley’s got a magic touch. The turnout tonight… It nearly rivaled the attention Eric had oncevished on her.”


    Hadley eyed the blooms and asked, “Did Duran Murray send these?”


    “Yep,” Lennon confirmed with a smirk. “He’s been extra generous with youtely.”


    Hadley frowned, curiosity piqued. “What’s his angle?”


    “What?” Lennon blinked, taken aback. “You mean…”


    Hadley nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yeah, I mean. Does he simply appreciate me and my performance, or is there something bigger at y?”


    “Well…” Lennon was caught off guard by her directness. Sure, plenty of nightclub performers found themselves entertaining…


    Clients beyond the stage—it wasn’t unusual.


    But Hadley’s candor was another story.


    Lennon usually took it upon himself to ry client requests rather than answer questions like these.


    He hesitated before giving Hadley an honest answer. “He hasn’t said anything outright.”


    “Alright.”


    Hadley absorbed the information and then turned back to him. “Can I meet him after the show?”


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    She gestured at the floral avnche. “He went all out. I should thank him in person.”


    “Of course.”


    Lennon didn’t hesitate. A cooperative performer made his job easier.


    “Shall I set it up?”


    “Yes, thank you, Mr. Lewis.”


    “Anytime.”


    As he turned to make the arrangements, he sighed inwardly. “What a prize… and it’s that old-timer Duran who’s going to cash in?” Still, he set his reservations aside. If Hadley became Duran’s girl, it would be a win for Gnt.


    Later that night, thanks to Lennon’s coordination, Hadley finished her performance, wiped away her stage makeup, changed, and made her way to Duran’s private room.


    “Mr. Murray,” Lennon called out, shing a polished smile as he ushered her inside. “Hadley’s here.”


    “Oh, really?” Duran asked, settling deeper into the plush sofa. He was in his early forties, middle-aged but clinging to thest threads of youth.


    His slicked-back hair couldn’t hide the thinning patch in the middle, a telltale sign of a receding hairline. Wrinkles lined his face, and his belly pushed against his suit—a man well-fed byfort and excess. His tailored suit and steady gaze gave him the air of a man ustomed to control.


    He nced up, eyes skimming over Hadley beforending on her face.


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