Inside the car.
Bridget had already spotted Sylvia, and she deliberately took the opportunity to plant a kiss on Rupert right in front of her.
She wanted Sylvia to see clearly that just because they'd been to bed didn't mean anything significant—Bridget was Rupert’s final choice.
But before her lips could touch Rupert’s cheek, he raised his arm, blocking her advance.
Bridget was stunned for a few seconds, then her face turned to one of feigned hurt. "Mr. Rupert, what's wrong?"
Rupert casually grabbed a tissue and wiped his sleeve where she'd brushed against it. "The lipstick doesn't suit you."
Immediately, Bridget's face went pale. She instinctively pressed her lips together, her hands clutching tightly at her dress.
Rupert gave her a sidelong glance. "What are you so nervous about?"
Bridget, as if startled, forced herself to relax, though it was clear she was trying way too hard.
"Oh, nothing. Maybe I just had too many scones at tea time, and my stomach's a bit off. We are colleagues, after all, and I thought some socializing was in order."
"Oh? Here I was thinking I was the one in need of some socializing," Rupert replied, tossing the tissue into the trash. His voice was low, almost a growl, suffocating the car's atmosphere to the point where Bridget found it hard to breathe.
She pressed her lips harder, smudging most of the bright lipstick, leaving a stark contrast between the remaining color and her pale lips.
Of course, nothing could be hidden from Rupert.
Even her inviting others for tea under his name hadn't escaped his notice.
Desperate to salvage the situation, Bridget said, "Mr. Rupert, we're engaged. I just wanted everyone to know how well you treat me. A little bit of feminine vanity is normal, right? It's harmless."
"Vanity?" Rupert looked down, turning the ring on his thumb—a stark contrast of jade and red stone, cold yet menacing. "So the necklace around your neck is also part of your little vanity?"
Bridget's hand shot up to cover the necklace, revealing her guilt.
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