Chapter 200

Gioanna's gaze was fixed on the report sprawled across her desk, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "Enough, Layla," she snapped.

Layla's stern voice cut through the tension. "The one who needs to pull herself together is you, Gioanna. This report is a disaster: incoherent sentences, and unverifiable data. It's clear you didn't put any thought into it. Handing me something like this is a waste of both our times."

"You're just trying to undermine me," Gioanna retorted.

"Whether I'm trying to undermine you or your report is genuinely flawed, you know the truth," Layla countered.

Gioanna threw up her hands in a gesture of defiance. "So what if I just threw it together? I'm a designer, not a report writer."

Layla chuckled, "If you can't even write a simple report, then perhaps you're not as competent a designer as you think. What was it you said earlier? When you started as a designer, I was just an intern. Given your experience, you shouldn't be producing work that's a joke."

"Get me that report by 1:30, and this time, don't waste my time," Layla demanded. She was there to work, not to indulge Gioanna's lack of professionalism.

Gioanna's grip tightened around her purse, distorting its shape. "I'm going to lunch, and I need my rest at noon. Even if I were to submit it, it wouldn't be this early."

"Time is made, not found. Like skipping lunch or your nap," Layla retorted.

"Do you want to starve me? This report isn't urgent; are you implying you're not just trying to torment me?"

"If you hadn't wasted your time on trivial matters, this report would have been completed already. So, it's only fair that you make up for it on your own time, right?" Layla's tone was sharp, a stark contrast to her earlier accommodating demeanor. Her assertiveness stunned their colleagues.

No one expected such a young woman to be so assertive. Gioanna kicked her chair, causing a loud noise, but Layla acted as if she hadn't heard a thing.

"Forget it, don't get angry. Just hurry up and write that report. I'll pack it for you," Jane tried to soothe Gioanna.

"I won't let her get away with this," Gioanna muttered through clenched teeth, her face pale with rage.

Meanwhile, Layla was in high spirits. She yearned for a peaceful coexistence with her colleagues and smooth project completion. However, experience had taught her that being too agreeable often led to being taken for granted and bullied. So, she was ready to stand her ground, unafraid.

As Layla exited the lobby elevator, her phone rang. A sweet smile spread across her face. "What's up? Samuel, are you missing me?"

"Yeah. Just got off work?" Samuel's voice was deep and melodious, as always.

"Just about, I'm headed out to get some food."

"I'm right outside The Eilish Group. You'll see me as soon as you step out."

"Really?" Layla quickened her pace, hung up the phone, and waved at the approaching Samuel.

"Layla," Samuel opened the car door for her.

"How come you're so nice today, coming specially to take me to lunch?" Layla's smile was honeyed as she gazed at Samuel in his sharp suit.

He exuded authority and a fiercely attractive energy at night, yet by day he was utterly professional. The contradiction in Samuel's demeanor made Layla's heart race.

In her mind, Layla was gushing: Samuel is so handsome! Insanely handsome! Samuel turned his head to Layla and flashed a charming smile. "No matter how busy I am, I always make time to take my beloved woman out to lunch."

"You're just sweet-talking," Layla teased.

"My words are sweet, huh? Try them for yourself." Samuel pulled Layla close, and tenderly kissed her on the lips.

A wave of sweetness washed over Layla. Indeed, it was very sweet. Their gazes were so filled with affection that it seemed impossible for a third person to break through.

Seated in the passenger seat, Mr. Vandella mused, "Boss, isn't it a bit harsh to flaunt your love life in front of a single man like myself?"

In the past, Mr. Vandella had always found joy in their happiness, but today, for the first time, he felt a pang of self-pity. His own situation seemed pitifully bleak.

Could it be the chill in the air that made him yearn for a girlfriend of his own?

However, Mr. Vandella quickly dismissed the thought. His job was his girlfriend.

As his boss's love life intensified, his own workload seemed to multiply. Juggling his duties as a chauffeur and managing company affairs, he found no room for romance.

"How was work today? No one pushed you around, right?" Samuel asked, his fingers gently stroking Layla's hair, which was fluffy, soft, and felt wonderful to the touch.

Layla, petite and endearing, stirred a protective instinct in him.

"I'm the lead designer; who would dare push me around?" Layla retorted, looking up at him, "Besides, do I look like someone who gets pushed around? I even gave one of the designers a piece of my mind today."

"You're impressive."

"Heh, of course." She didn't bully others, but she wasn't going to be a pushover either.

"I really miss it, those days when you used to pick me up from work."

In those days, their relationship hadn't been defined. Layla was a struggling chef, drowning in debt, cooking meals to pay off what she owed Samuel. Who could have predicted they'd be so sweet together now?

"I can still come and pick you up every day."

"That would be too much trouble, with the Holland Group and the Eilish Group being a bit far apart."

"Going to pick up the woman I love, even if it's from the opposite ends of the earth, doesn't feel too far," Samuel declared, his words heavy with romance.

"Darling, you spoil me so much, I absolutely adore you." Layla cooed in his arms, gazing up adoringly at the perfect line of his jaw, her face that of a devoted admirer.

"I do too."

And their lips met once again.

Mr. Vandella thought to himself: Boss, you can just keep showing off, I'm really fine, really... It's okay.

After dining at a nearby upscale Western restaurant, Layla patted her belly contentedly, "I need to get back to the office."

"Leaving right after the meal? That's cold-hearted, girl," Samuel teased as he gently pinched Layla's cute little nose.

"I have to be busy later this afternoon; I need a nap or I'll get sleepy," she replied.

"Let me take you somewhere," he offered.

"Where?"

"You'll see," Samuel said with a hint of mystery.

Ten minutes later.

In the downtown luxury district, a Bentley parked in front of a bridal boutique.

Layla's eyes, clear in their black-and-white distinction, widened. "Lillian Bridal?"

She turned to Samuel in surprise.

The thought that Samuel was taking her to try on wedding dresses had never crossed her mind. She was beyond thrilled.

As she looked at each of the snow-white dresses, Layla felt as if she were in a dream; her heart was racing.

Even though Layla was just an ordinary girl, she had always harbored a dream of being a princess. A princess draped in a beautiful white wedding dress, walking towards her prince amid cheers.

The staff respectfully presented her with dresses, each one pure and sublime.

"Layla, these ten dresses were all custom-made for you by Lillian."

Custom-made. Layla was even more astonished.

When had Samuel prepared this?

Lillian was the world's leading bridal gown designer, creating exclusively for royalty, and many heiresses could not secure an appointment, having to settle for other designers under Lillian's brand. Yet Layla now had ten unique dresses all to herself.

Her happiness and surprise were indescribable.

But her greatest joy was being cherished by Samuel as if she were a princess.