Bride Behind The Mask Novel

Marguerite prepared a tray of freshly washed fruits and brought it to Jocelyn’s room.

At that time, Powell was already fast asleep on the bed. Meanwhile, Jocelyn was sitting on a rocking chair beside the bed, donned in reading glasses, attentively scrutinizing what looked like a financial report.

Tip–toeing her way, Marguerite approached gently and said in a low voice, “Jocelyn, the fruits are ready.”

Jocelyn, engrossed in her report with one hand and marking annotations with a pen in the other, did not look up. “Just leave it there. Powell can have it when he wakes up.”

As soon as she finished her sentence, Marguerite grabbed a cherry and tried to feed it to Jocelyn, “I got all your favorites! You like cherries, right?”

Hearing it. Jocelyn paused, removed her glasses, and looked up at Marguerite. Her expression was somewhat serious, but Marguerite’s playful smile made her lose her stern demeanor.

“Weren’t you supposed to be taking care of the kids, what are you doing here?”

Marguerite popped a cherry into her mouth, looking innocent, “That’s just an excuse I gave her!”

helpless, “You shouldn’t have tried to get close with

she understood the rationale, her rebellious nature kicked in, and she certainly wasn’t one to bow down to

this is the report of Thunderbolt Enterprises, right? Your handwriting is so

the

over. Now that Yuna has gone over to her side too. Aren’t you worried they’ll team up against

their business, and what’s it got to

you’re not scheming against others,

against me, but I know you wouldn’t. So even if I went over to Lisette’s side, she’d only

amused by Marguerite’s argument, “Honey, I don’t have time to play games with you! Remember,

Marguerite’s head ache. And perhaps it was because Jocelyn once again gave Marguerite a sense of warmth, she let down her guard, and like a

sensing Marguerite’s deflated tone, retorted, “So, if you’re not

there’s no chance for me and Frederick, I’m not lucky enough to be your daughter–in–law. But now I can see him every day, and I can

looked deeply at Marguerite, not uttering a

moving; it seemed as though there was a faint tremble of emotion