Burning Passion: Love Never Die

Once Marcus’ mind was set, Celeste realized she couldn’t sway him.
Meanwhile, Millie returned to the company and settled into her seat. Soon, a
murmur reached her ears.
“Isn't it against the rules to leave during work hours? Even if one does, they're
expected to inform the team leader.”
Millie directed her gaze toward the individual conversing with Emerie.
Emerie’s retort dripped with venom.
“Indeed, in her eyes, I hold no status as a team leader. She's free to come and
go as she pleases, answerable to no one. Endowed with the prestigious title of
the president's wife, she could slumber at her desk, and we'd still be powerless.”
“You're absolutely right. She likely believes we're unworthy of sharing office
space with her. A client berates her, and she still has the audacity to wander.
Were I in her shoes, I'd be racing to rectify the situation.”
Millie rubbed her temples, her gaze turning sharp.
“Leaving the office warrants reporting to the team leader; of course I'm aware.
Yet, I'm not officially assigned to any team. Who can validate that I belong to
group three? Furthermore, everyone is cognizant of the reason why the client
was angry. The culprit even lacks any sense of shame, a sentiment I share for
her.”
While Millie acknowledged the impropriety of her abrupt departure, she found it
intolerable to endure the situation as it was.
Emerie’s frustration flared, prompting her to rise abruptly, yet she curbed her
impulse to confront Millie directly.
In response, the office occupants exchanged knowing glances.
With a detached expression, Millie grasped the pen, poised to resume her
design. Yet a parched throat nudged her attention to her now-empty cup. She
moved toward the tea room to refill it.
Once Millie stepped out, Emerie’s countenance darkened, her palm smacking the
table's surface in frustration.
“Your fortune simply smiles upon you for marrying the CEO. If competence truly
coursed through your veins, why linger in the design department? You'd be better
suited as the president's secretary.”
Emerie accessed her drawer, extracted a sachet, and approached Millie's
workstation, feigning an inspection of her designs.
Seizing her moment, she surreptitiously deposited the sachet into Millie’s drawer.
The sachet, containing an unusual blend of dried flowers, emanated a scent
capable of inducing sickness and rashes upon prolonged exposure.
Millie's aesthetic allure was undeniable. When rashes surfaced, her appeal would
doubtlessly diminish in the eyes of men.
Emerie retreated to her seat, an air of calculated vindictiveness accompanying
her.
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: 3 Ti
Following Millie's return, she plunged
into her design revisions. A subtle
floral aroma wafted through the air,

sire . : ’
but Millie attributed it to a neighbor's
perfume, dismissing the peculiarity.
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Hours elapsed, and a sense of
dizziness and nausea overcame her.
Abruptly, red bumps emerged on the
back of her hand, a sight that jolted
her. The content is on
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Setting aside her pen, Millie hastened
to the restroom. Gazing at her
reflection, she was met with a

x 5 5 )

startling realization—red bumps’ had
proliferated across her face and
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