Chapter 801

The silence in the boardroom after Susan’s storm-out was suffocating. The senior managers sat like statues, eyes glued to their laps, terrified of the thundercloud settling over Manuel Johnson’s face.

"The meeting is over!" Manuel snapped, his voice tight. He stood abruptly and walked out, leaving a room full of people wondering if they still had a company to manage. It was the shortest, most disastrous meeting in the history of Phillips Bank.

Susan, meanwhile, was already in her car, the engine’s roar a perfect match for the blood rushing in her ears. But as the familiar silhouette of the bank faded in her rearview mirror, the heat of her anger began to cool, replaced by a cold, sinking dread. This was her father’s life’s work. She had walked away on an impulse, and if Edward Phillips were to wake up today, the news of her resignation might be enough to send him back into the abyss.

"I guess this is what growing up feels like," Susan muttered, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. "It’s not a choice; it’s a sentence."

She drove straight to the hospital, her daily sanctuary. Pushing open the door to the VIP ward, she felt the usual weight of the medical monitors and the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator. Here, away from the corporate wars, her mask finally crumbled.

"I quarreled with Manuel today, Dad," she whispered, sitting by his bedside. "He told me I was unqualified in front of everyone. It was humiliating."

She went on, a torrent of grievances pouring out. She complained about her dark circles, the hours she’d put in, and her secret motivation: she had seen Manuel falling asleep at his desk, exhausted, and she had wanted to carry some of that weight for him.

"But why do I care?" she cried softly. "He’s mean. He’s cold. And yet... I’m sitting here regretting it. I was stupid to quit. If I go back now and apologize, will he even look at me?"

"Maybe you can have a try," a voice said from the doorway.

Susan jumped, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. Standing there, leaning against the frame with an amused glint in her eyes, was Justine.

The embarrassment hit Susan like a physical wave. How much did she hear? "Is it a hobby of yours? Eavesdropping on people's private moments?"

"I wasn't eavesdropping, I was listening," Justine corrected calmly, her elegance making Susan feel like a disheveled child. "And for the record, I started listening right around the part where you mentioned how hard you work."

Susan wanted the floor to swallow her whole. "Why didn't you say something? That’s incredibly rude!"

"You were having a moment with your father. It would have been ruder to interrupt," Justine shrugged. "Anyway, do you want me to tell Manuel to give you a second chance? He doesn't usually take childish outbursts to heart."

"I'm not childish!" Susan roared, though her reaction proved the opposite.

"I’m just giving you a head-up. The rest is up to you," Justine said with a sophisticated indifference that Susan both envied and loathed.

Susan stormed out of the ward, gritting her teeth. She had spent years hating Justine—for what she was to Manuel, and for what she had been to Edward. Yet, seeing Justine visit her father so faithfully since the accident had complicated that hatred into a grudging, painful respect.

Back in her car, Susan sat in a stalemate with herself. She pictured Manuel’s icy glare and flinched. But then she thought of the bank. She thought of her father.

"It’s not like I haven't made a fool of myself in front of him before," she told herself, slamming the car into gear. "He already thinks I’m an idiot. Things can't get any worse."

She spun the wheel and headed back toward Phillips Bank. She would admit she was wrong. She would endure the scolding. If the worst he could do was kick her out, she might as well give him the satisfaction of doing it to her face.