Rose couldn't help but clutch the edge of the table tightly, her knuckles turning white as she watched Bryson disappear from her sight. A mix of worry, frustration, and disappointment clouded her expression. She shifted her gaze to Ainslie, her eyes filled with both sadness and anger."Your good-for-nothing husband does have pride, and I'm disgusted at it," Rose uttered with a hint of disdain, her voice tinged with disappointment. Ainslie, feeling the weight of her mother's words, hung her head in shame. "Sorry, Mom," Ainslie murmured, her voice tinged with annoyance. "I will talk to him and make him understand.""You better do," Mark interjected sharply. His tone was firm, reflecting his frustration and anger towards Bryson. "He now lives under my roof, and I won't tolerate his impudence. He shouldn't give us an attitude here, or I'll kick his ass out of my house. I hope I'm making myself clear?" His words were laced with a warning, a clear indication that he expected compliance
Later in the day, Ainslie stepped out of the bustling photo shooting hall in the agency, her energy depleted. She navigated her way through the busy corridors, seeking solace in the familiar confines of the dressing room. With a heavy sigh, she closed the door behind her, ready to retouch her makeup and gather herself. As she stood before the well-lit vanity mirror, her eyes met the reflection of her weary face. Lines of exhaustion etched across her features, and she couldn't help but lament her current state. "Gosh, I look bad now," she whined softly, her voice filled with self-criticism. Lost in her thoughts, she was momentarily unaware of the presence that entered the room."Gosh, I need to relieve myself of the day's stress or I'll burn out," Ainslie mused aloud, her words tinged with a hint of desperation. It was at that moment that a voice, gentle and familiar, interrupted her internal monologue."I can help you, darling," the voice offered, breaking through the silence of t
Bryson was taken aback by the audacity of Dulgad's order. His surprise quickly transformed into a stoic expression, masking his growing frustration. He couldn't believe Dulgad had the nerve to treat him like a servant and command him to do their laundry.His voice firm and resolute, Bryson replied, "The servants are around. I won't do your laundry for you." He stood up, his posture indicating his refusal to comply. Observing Bryson's defiance, Dulgad's demeanor changed. Unbuttoning his vest, he stepped forward, a challenging glint in his eyes. "You'll do it, Bryson," he declared, his tone laced with arrogance. Bryson's expression hardened. Folding up his sleeves, he stood his ground, determined not to back down. "I want to see you try to force me," he retorted, his voice filled with defiance. "I repeat, I won't do it..." Before Bryson could continue, Ainslie's voice suddenly reverberated through the room, cutting through the tension. "Do it, Bryson!" she commanded, her tone fo
Stuttering slightly, Ainslie asked, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and disbelief, "Y-you mean, you're the one who bought these houses, Clinton?""Yeah, I did so a couple of days ago," Clinton replied, his tone expressing a touch of pride. Ainslie's mind raced, trying to process the information. She mustered up the courage to ask the next question, her voice still tinged with stuttering uncertainty, "Y-you bought them for... how much?""Just fifty million dollars," Clinton responded casually as if it were a mere triviality. Ainslie gasped, her hand instinctively covering her mouth in shock. "Y-you... goodness, why would you purchase them?" Clinton looked at Ainslie with a tender smile. "Honestly, it was only until yesterday that I got to know that you and Bryson lived here before. I could see how much this house meant to you, and I wanted to do something special for you." Ainslie's eyes welled up with tears as she struggled to find the right words. "I... I cherish th
As he moved further into the house, Bryson's ears caught a faint sound—moanings that seemed out of place and filled the air with an uncomfortable tension. His gaze flicked towards the nearby room, his heart pounding in his chest. The realization of what might be happening behind that closed door began to dawn on him, filling him with a mix of anger, hurt, and a desire to uncover the truth. Summoning all his courage, Bryson approached the room, his footsteps growing heavier with every stride. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open, bracing himself for the confrontation that awaited him on the other side. To Bryson's greatest shock and dismay, as he entered the room, he was met with the heart-wrenching sight of his wife, Ainslie, riding another man atop the bed. Their intimate encounter had them both engrossed in the act, unaware of Bryson's presence until he let out a groan of disbelief and anguish. A groan escaped his lips, causing Ainslie to abruptly jump off the man's b
Determined to escape the suffocating environment that haunted him, Bryson turned away and left, his heart heavy with a sense of profound loss. Seeking solace or perhaps a temporary escape from his torment, Bryson found himself in a dimly lit bar. He ordered a series of drinks, attempting to drown his sorrows in a haze of alcohol. However, as the night wore on, it became apparent that he was unable to pay for his mounting orders. The realization struck him like a cruel blow, shattering any semblance of respite he had sought. The bar's patrons, irritated by his inability to settle his bill, grew increasingly hostile. In a degrading and brutal act, Bryson was mercilessly beaten by the bar's bouncers and thrown out onto the street like an unwanted stray. Bruised, battered, and emotionally shattered, he lay on the cold pavement, feeling utterly defeated. It seemed as though life had dealt him a final, crippling blow, leaving him with nothing more to fight for or hold onto. With a h
Bryson's eyes widened in disbelief, his mind struggling to absorb the weight of the revelation. He sat up straight on the bed, his curiosity piqued. "My parents... You know who they are?" he inquired, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. A tender expression crossed the woman's face as she nodded in affirmation. "Yes, I know your parents, Master. They were prominent figures in society, and their sudden demise shook the world. You are the sole heir of the esteemed Wyatt Group of Conglomerate." The words hung in the air, resonating deeply within Bryson. The mention of the Wyatt Group of Conglomerate, a name synonymous with wealth, power, and influence, left him speechless. His jaw dropped as he struggled to comprehend the magnitude of his heritage."T...the Wyatt Group of Conglomerate," Bryson stammered, his voice barely audible. The woman's smile widened, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and anticipation. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment,
Silence was on the verge of enveloping the room when the door swung open, revealing a man in his sixties rushing in with a sense of urgency. Bryson's attention was immediately drawn to the shock etched on the man's face, and as their eyes met, the man slowly removed his hat, fixing his gaze on Bryson in awe. Meanwhile, Sarah and Marissa gracefully spun and bowed in deference to the man, further deepening Bryson's confusion regarding his identity. The man's astonishment lingered as he pointed directly at Bryson, his voice filled with disbelief. "Is this him for real?" Sarah, acknowledging the man's inquiry, nodded respectfully. "Yes, sir." Bryson was taken aback by the man's reaction. As he approached Bryson, taking hold of his hand and falling to his knees with teary eyes, the weight of the situation became more apparent. The man's words resonated with emotion. "It's him. He still bears that face. Welcome back, son. I apologize for your forced absence from our lives for over