Chapter 303 - 302: That’s My Fiancé

The paparazzi’s cursing could still be faintly heard, growing more distant until it faded into silence.

Joanna Kennedy pulled her gaze back and looked directly at Michelle Pemberton, whose face had gone deathly pale. Ignoring the resentment in her eyes, Joanna held out the wine glass with a beaming smile. "My friend, your glass."

The smiling voice snapped Michelle Pemberton out of her shock. Her mind was a complete blank; she couldn’t process what had just happened.

’Wasn’t Joanna Kennedy supposed to "spill" the wine on me? How did it suddenly go flying into the bushes?! And how did it land perfectly on a paparazzi’s head?!’

Everything had happened so fast. Michelle Pemberton couldn’t figure out where her plan had gone wrong. ’Was Joanna prepared for this?’

She snapped her head up. The girl before her was still smiling, showing no sign of anything unusual. She didn’t look like someone who had already figured everything out.

’So it was just a coincidence?’

"Miss Pemberton, do you still want this?" Joanna asked again, her tone perfectly natural.

Michelle Pemberton breathed a sigh of relief and forced a smile. "Thank you..."

"You’re welcome," Joanna said.

A little of the red liquid still clung to the sides of the glass. Holding it, Michelle Pemberton felt like she was clutching a hot potato.

"You... why did you..." Michelle Pemberton started to ask, feigning composure, but she didn’t know how to phrase the question.

And why should she? How could someone have the nerve to ask questions after their little scheme failed? Seeing Michelle Pemberton grow more flustered, her face flushing red, Joanna finally drawled, "What is it?"

Her inquisitive tone instantly made Michelle Pemberton swallow her words. "N-nothing..."

Inside the banquet hall, Michelle Pemberton found herself subconsciously trailing after Joanna. She only snapped back to reality when Joanna stopped and leisurely asked if there was anything else she needed. A wave of humiliation washed over her.

’Why am I following at Joanna Kennedy’s heels like this!’

Beneath the crystal chandeliers, the girl’s stunning features were captivating, yet her expression remained placid, as if she hadn’t noticed Michelle’s predicament at all.

Michelle Pemberton felt a surge of frustration and said pointedly, "You’re so quick, Miss Kennedy. I didn’t even notice someone was down there."

"You’re so practiced at it, Miss Kennedy. Is this something you do often?"

The question was dripping with malice. ’What does she mean, "so practiced"? She might as well just accuse me of throwing wine on people for a living.’

’This little rich girl must take me for some kind of idiot, a total pushover.’

Joanna let out a short laugh, but there wasn’t a trace of humor in her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to call Michelle out on it, wanting to give another girl some face, after all.

But some people just couldn’t be given that courtesy. Joanna raised her gaze. She was slightly taller than Michelle Pemberton, and when she tilted her chin up just so, it gave her a subtle air of arrogance.

"Yes, I do it all the time," Joanna said slowly, pausing before she continued. "After all, I’m a very considerate person."

"If that glass of red wine hadn’t gone over the balcony, I’m afraid it would have ended up all over you," Joanna smiled, her tone unreadable as she offered a piece of "advice." "You shouldn’t fill your glass so full next time, Miss Pemberton."

The wealthy are all about appearances and etiquette. A standard pour of red wine is one-third of the glass. It allows the wine to breathe, makes it easier to appreciate the aroma, and is easier to hold.

Michelle Pemberton’s glass, however, was nearly three-quarters full. It clearly wasn’t poured for drinking; it might as well have had "ulterior motive" written all over it.

Michelle Pemberton: "..."

Michelle Pemberton wasn’t an idiot. She understood the implication. Her face flushed, then paled. "You... you knew all along..."

Her expression stiffened. She was both embarrassed and furious. ’If Joanna knew, why did she just stand there and watch me make a fool of myself?!’

Michelle Pemberton’s gentle expression was practically contorting with rage, but Joanna paid it no mind.

"What was there for me to know?" Joanna tilted her head, feigning confusion as she commented, "You’re being so strange, Miss Pemberton."

Michelle Pemberton: "..."

The girl’s smile was as bright as a spring blossom, but her clear, dark eyes were ice-cold. A sudden panic seized Michelle Pemberton. She had to pinch herself hard just to regain her composure.

She said nothing more, practically fleeing in disgrace.

Michelle Pemberton left in such a hurry that she nearly collided with another guest, apologizing profusely until her face flushed red with embarrassment.

Joanna withdrew her gaze, sparing her no further thought. ’All bark and no bite, that one. I have no idea why she decided to pull that stunt on me, but it doesn’t matter now.’

As the banquet began, Joanna was seated at a table with several executives from Aethel, along with a few other A-list male and female celebrities of similar stature.

They were all acquaintances, and she’d even worked with a few of them before. The conversation flowed easily—at least, for the cameras, it was a picture of perfect harmony.

Joanna had a few more sips of red wine. She only took small tastes each time, but with so many people coming to offer toasts and so many she had to toast in return, the small sips began to add up.

More than half her glass of wine was gone, and Joanna could feel her cheeks growing hot. In the dim glow of the crystal chandeliers, her flushed face looked like a delicate peach blossom petal—so tempting one couldn’t help but want to take a bite.

"Joanna, are you drunk?"

A deep, magnetic male voice sounded beside her ear. An unfamiliar scent of agarwood wafted past her nose, and Joanna subconsciously frowned.

The man was leaning in close, his handsome face nearly pressing against hers. It was her male co-star from the historical drama she’d filmed two projects ago—an actor with an enormous following of "girlfriend fans."

Joanna leaned back to create some distance. "A little."

Her tone was polite but not overly familiar. Henry Hughes, however, just smiled. He deliberately turned to show off his more attractive right profile and asked in a gentle voice, "Then how about I take you home later?"

Outside, there were crowds of waiting fans and countless paparazzi. With that one question, Henry Hughes might as well have just said he wanted to stir up couple rumors.

Joanna was getting annoyed. The wine was going to her head, and she just wanted some peace and quiet, not a conversation. The cloying scent of agarwood wasn’t going away, which only irritated her more. "Can you please move away from me?"

Joanna looked up at him, her tone serious. "You smell awful."

Henry Hughes: "..."

This was the first time anyone had ever told him to get away from them—let alone that he smelled awful. For a moment, Henry Hughes was too stunned to react. He thought he must have misheard.

Noticing a few curious glances from nearby, he forced his stiff expression back into its usual gentle smile.

"So, you don’t like agarwood, Joanna?" Henry Hughes asked, trying to defuse the tension with a joke. "Then what kind of fragrance do you like? Maybe you can recommend one for me?"

’Recommend my ass.’ Joanna was about to die of annoyance. She took a deep breath and said, deadpan, "I like the way my boyfriend smells."

!

Henry Hughes was so shocked he nearly choked. He forced himself to lower his voice. "You have a boyfriend?!"

’How have I never heard about this?!’

Oh, wait. Henry Hughes remembered the recent trending topic. He swallowed hard and asked tentatively, "Is it the guy from that video?"

"No," Joanna replied, still completely straight-faced. "That’s my fiancé."

Henry Hughes: "..."