The Billionaire's Secret Quartet

Thalassa shook off her funk and asked curiously, “How?”

“We gotta visit Dr. Funke.”

“But Dr. Funke won’t even give us the time of day,” Thalassa lamented.

“Didn’t Dr. Funke promise Alaric a dinner to sign some contract or something? We can just go with Alaric,” Hertha suggested. “But…”

“No buts about it, leave this to me,” Hertha proclaimed, her indignation fueling her resolve.

The next morning, Hertha made her way to the Falconer Group, striding with determined steps toward the elevator.

No sooner had she reached the reception desk than she was stopped, “Miss, may I ask who you’re here to see?” Every corporate receptionist is like a human radar for new faces.

Spotting an unfamiliar one, they intercept, preventing any potentially ill–intentioned visitor from disturbing the upper echelons of the company.

Hertha had to pause, but she put on a cheery smile and told the receptionist, “I’m an old friend of your VP. Just need to chat with him about something.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked, her expression stern, leaving no room for flexibility.

an old friend?” Hertha was taken aback.

our VP. If you don’t have one, I

her

Alaric get so high–and–mighty

so she held

receptionist, “Sorry, let me just give him

the same one she’d had for three years, Hertha scrolled to Alaric’s

three years. She wondered

she’d stumbled upon Alaric and Georgia sharing a bed, leaving the hotel that morning in a huff, she hadn’t

gossip, she cut off all contact with the outside world.

had been cocooned in her phone for three

she was dialing it again

with uncertainty, not knowing if the

dial tone

went