Marriage with my daughter's father: Darling please be gentle - Chapter 237

Chapter 237: Chapter 237: Where is Agnes?

The silence in the room grew dense, almost suffocating, as Winter fixed Eric with an unyielding stare. Her words had landed like a blade—precise and cold—and her expression left no room for misinterpretation.

“I assume you’re not planning to betray your CEO by going behind his back,” she said, her voice low and calm—yet laced with unmistakable steel.

Eric’s jaw tightened. The accusation wasn’t loud, but it echoed like a warning shot.

His features tensed, though he quickly masked it behind the composed facade he’d mastered over the years. Still, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes—brief, but telling. He hadn’t expected Winter to strike so swiftly. So directly.

But then again, she always had a way of catching him off guard.

“You’ve always had a knack for cutting through the noise,” he said, aiming for casual. But the brittle edge in his voice betrayed his unease. “I’m not here to go rogue. I’m here because the company needs this partnership. Desperately.”

Winter didn’t blink. “Let’s just hope your desperation doesn’t compromise your loyalty.”

The air between them turned heavier, pulsing with unspoken truths and the weight of a shared past.

Their eyes locked—and for a fleeting moment, something raw flickered in the silence. Recognition, maybe. Of who they used to be… and everything they no longer were.

But Winter was already flipping the page in the file before her, her posture composed, her focus sharp, as if the exchange hadn’t nicked something deeper.

And that, more than anything, rattled him.

Then, his phone buzzed. Loud. Jarring. Shattering the moment like glass.

Eric’s gaze dropped to the screen. He hadn’t intended to answer—not now, not with her here. But the name flashing across the screen stopped him cold.

Dorothy Greyson.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, stepping a few feet away, his voice already lowering as he answered. “Hello?”

“Where the hell is Agnes, Eric? Why isn’t she answering my calls?” Dorothy’s voice tore through the receiver like a whip, startling him.

He glanced over his shoulder at Winter, then quickly turned his back, pressing the phone tighter to his ear. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not after the careful lie he’d spun about Agnes moving in with him. Dorothy wasn’t someone who accepted silence lightly. Especially not when it came to her daughter.

“Mrs. Greyson,” he began smoothly, forcing a calm into his voice that he didn’t feel, “I completely understand your concern. I should’ve reached out. Agnes had to leave for a shoot in Denwok at the very last minute.”

A pause followed. Long and heavy.

“She left without telling me?” Dorothy’s voice dropped, confused. “She never does that.”

“I know,” he said, softening his tone. “But she said the schedule was tight. There might not be much time to call. She didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”

The lie slipped out easily. Too easily.

Dorothy went quiet again. Then, at last, she sighed.

“Fine. I’ll wait for her return. But once she’s back, I want to meet with both of you. There’s something I need to discuss.”

Before he could respond, the line went dead.

Eric stared at the phone for a moment, the weight of Dorothy’s words settling like lead in his chest. Something important. With Dorothy, that was never casual.

Drawing in a breath, he composed himself and turned back—only to find Winter watching him from her seat, expression unreadable.

She’d heard enough.

“I’ve reviewed all your points, Mr. Spencer,” she said, her voice cool and professional, as though nothing had happened. “But I’ll still need to speak with the CEO before signing off. It’s his decision, after all.”

Eric’s shoulders loosened slightly, the tension retreating just enough for him to nod.

“I’ll wait for your call, then,” he replied, and they began wrapping up the meeting.

But just as he turned to leave, her voice stopped him.

“Where is Agnes, Eric?”

His steps faltered.

He turned back slowly, meeting her gaze. There was no curiosity in her voice—only quiet precision.

“Why do you want to know, Winter?” he asked, his tone flat. Then he added, voice dipping lower, colder, “Or are you planning to poison her against me too? Like you did before—when you stole something that wasn’t yours.”

His words were sharp, laced with old resentment, but his calm façade only made it worse.

Winter’s eyes flickered—but instead of reacting with shock, she chuckled softly.

“Oh, so you found it,” she said, locking eyes with him.

“And yet, you haven’t confronted me. That’s the real surprise.”

Something cracked in Eric’s expression. He stepped closer, tension rolling off him in waves.

“Why would you do that, Winter?” he asked, his voice low and wounded, the fury barely veiled.

He’d never forgotten that night—the way her hand had brushed his, how for a single moment, he believed she’d come to him willingly. Trustingly.

But it had all been an act. A performance. A way to get close enough to steal what he had hidden.

She’d known. Somehow, Winter had known exactly what the vial was—and what he’d intended to use it for.

And that haunted him.

Winter remained still, her arms folded across her chest, unmoved by his pain.

“Don’t you already know, Eric?” she said, her voice steady. “Or have you become so tangled in your schemes that you’ve forgotten who you are—and what you were?”

His breath hitched. Just slightly.

Because part of him had forgotten. Or maybe he’d just buried it deep enough to pretend it never mattered.

But Winter… she never let him forget.

“It’s none of your concern where Agnes is. As you said, we should keep this professional,” Eric stated, his tone final, drawing a firm line in the sand.

Winter merely smirked, saying nothing more as she watched him turn and walk away. But as the door shut behind him, the faint amusement faded from her lips.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t her place anymore.

But the question lingered, refusing to be dismissed.

Where is Agnes?

And why did the answer suddenly feel far more important than it should?