Cynthia typed her reply.
"It doesn't matter whether I'm satisfied. As long as Mr. Whitaker is."
No further messages came through.
Clearly, Mr. Whitaker wasn't satisfied. After all, his only daughter had suffered for three years because of this ordeal.
It looked like Zachary wouldn't be able to attend Father Benedict's wedding tomorrow.
As for what would happen to him tonight, Cynthia couldn't care less—she had her own battle to face in the morning.
After showering, Cynthia lay in bed, her thoughts tangled but her mind unusually clear. She watched as the darkness outside her window faded to a pale gray, and when the makeup artist finally knocked at her door, she realized she hadn't slept a wink.
Benedict had gotten drunk the night before and ended up crashing in one of the downstairs guest rooms, thanks to Assistant Frank. The makeup artist woke him early, and as soon as he came to, he remembered how wild he'd gotten last night and how he'd ignored Cynthia the entire evening.
Now, finally sober, he wasn't about to waste the chance to make it up to her.
When Cynthia answered his video call, she was sitting at her vanity, letting the stylist fuss with her hair and makeup.
"Cyndi…"
Benedict smiled at the sight of her—radiant, quietly enduring the stylist's touch.
"You look beautiful today."
Cynthia's lips curled into a smile, masking the cold amusement in her eyes. "Do I? Thanks. From today on, I plan to stay beautiful."
Benedict's gaze softened. "Well, to make sure you keep it that way, I'll work my tail off to give you a good life. I want you to be the happiest woman in the world."
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