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!”

“You shouldn’t have tried

nature kicked in, and she certainly wasn’t

a knee on the floor, leaning over to see what Jocelyn was writing, skillfully diverting the topic. “Jocelyn, this is the report of Thunderbolt Enterprises, right? Your handwriting is

sighed, bringing the conversation back

is trying to win you over. Now that

down the fruit tray, a serious look on her face, “That’s their business, and what’s it got to do with me?

her head, chuckling. “If you’re not scheming against others, you’re just waiting for them to

know you wouldn’t. So even if I went over to Lisette’s side,

by Marguerite’s argument, “Honey, I don’t have time to play games

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

sensing Marguerite’s deflated tone, retorted, “So, if you’re not marrying him, are you planning on marrying our

be your

deeply at Marguerite,

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