Chapter 3

The next day, Christine came back to get her things, looking like a completely different person.

She was wearing a new light pink dress, her hair freshly styled, makeup more elaborate than yesterday. Standing next to her desk, she made the surrounding female colleagues fade in comparison.

"Where did you all go for dinner last night? Why didn't you invite me?" she asked, her tone sweet, as she sat down in her chair.

"You're on the thirty-sixth floor now. How could we dare invite you?"

Christine smiled, a hint of restrained pride in her voice. "Oh, I was just helping out. Mr. Maximilian's schedule is too packed, and the secretary's office is understaffed."

"You attended a meeting with Mr. Maximilian yesterday?"

"Mhm. I was sitting outside taking notes, and Mr. Maximilian came out, looked at me, and told me to come in and observe for a while."

"Wow…"

I didn't look up, continuing to organize the files in my hand.

Christine's voice came closer. "Oh, by the way, Kaitlyn, Mr. Davies said that table you made yesterday had the wrong format. Could you redo it today?"

I stopped and looked at Mr. Davies.

He nodded. "Refer to last quarter's template for the format, and redo it."

I didn't ask what was wrong with the format.

I had checked that table three times yesterday; there were no issues.

But Mr. Davies had already averted his gaze.

I closed the file and reopened yesterday's table.

Christine was happily chatting with someone next to me.

At ten in the morning, she took a call, stepped out, and returned with a smile on her face, tidying her desk. "I'm going up now. I probably won't be back this afternoon, so don't wait for me."

"Mr. Maximilian called you?"

"Mhm. He's going to discuss a contract and he's taking me with him." She turned and left after that.

I watched her retreating figure, then brought my gaze back to my work.

After redoing the table, I sent it again. This time, Mr. Davies replied, "Okay."

I saved and closed the file, then took a sip of water.

My phone vibrated.

It was a new email, sender: MO.

My finger paused on the screen.

MO was Maximilian's old email alias. I knew it because I had sent him dozens of emails.

But I had a new email address; he couldn't possibly know my new address.

I opened the email. The content was short.

"Yesterday in the elevator, you had a small mole behind your left ear when you looked down."

"Christine doesn't."

My phone almost fell to the floor.