Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 348

Willow looked up, softening her voice. "Jude, I'm not trying to do anything malicious. I just refuse to let this project die because of a few uncooperative individuals. You know how crucial this opportunity is for me."

Her eyes turned red at the corners, looking like a woman genuinely backed into a corner.

Jude used to fall for this routine every time.

If she suffered the slightest injustice, he would gladly act as her shield. If she said she was afraid, he cleared the path; if she claimed no one believed in her, he stood firmly by her side.

But today, he just felt utterly drained.

"The project matters, but the children matter, too." Jude's voice was heavy. "You can't treat every dissenting voice as an obstacle meant to be crushed."

Willow's expression finally frosted over.

"Are you taking Wren's side now, too?"

Jude stiffened.

Seizing on his hesitation, her sneer deepened. "You're all the exact same. The second she shows up, everybody suddenly preaches about principles, boundaries, and protecting the children. She spent six years suffering in the Langford household, and none of you ever rushed to protect her back then."

Jude stared at her, a massive lump forming in his throat.

Her words were a brutal blade.

A blade sharp enough to slice through her facade and reveal her true ugliness.

She had never cared about the project's risk factors. What truly tormented her was seeing Wren being recognized, believed, and shielded by professional protocols.

Jude snatched the files back.

"I will report this exactly by the book."

Willow's face morphed in panic. "Jude Sinclair."

"You can run to Mr. Langford and force him to override me," he said, rising from his chair, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp. "But this time, I won't put my signature on your lies."

After the door clicked shut, Willow stood alone in the conference room, her chest heaving violently.

She grabbed her phone and dialed Lawrence's number.

No answer the first time.

No answer the second time.

Her fingers clamped down hard on the device, white-knuckled with rage.

In the past, the moment she shed a single tear, Lawrence would materialize. Even if he couldn't, he would shower her with flowers, cash, and luxury resources. He thrived on her dependency and loved how flawlessly she played the part of arm candy at social events.

Now, he was making her wait.

That stung far worse than a scolding.

Willow took a deep breath, touched up her powder, pasted on an expression of wronged innocence, and marched straight to the executive floor.

Outside Lawrence's office, an assistant blocked her path.

"Ms. Whitaker, Mr. Langford is in a meeting."

Willow forced a breathy laugh. "I'll wait for him."

"Mr. Langford left strict orders not to admit anyone without an appointment today."

Anyone without an appointment.

The words landed like a sharp, stinging slap to the face.

The nearby secretaries all kept their heads down, pretending to be deaf. But Willow knew they had heard every word.

The smile on her lips threatened to shatter entirely.

"Are you absolutely certain those were Lawrence's instructions?"

The assistant maintained a maddeningly polite tone. "Mr. Langford made it explicitly clear."

Willow stood frozen for a few agonizing seconds before muttering, "Then I'll just leave these documents for him."

Just as Willow stepped out, she spotted Clara Thorne breezing through the revolving doors. Clara was clad in a razor-sharp black skirt suit, flanked by two assistants and carrying the regulatory framework files.

Clara noticed her, too.

As they crossed paths, Clara paused, her eyes sweeping over Willow's face.

"You look a little pale, Ms. Whitaker."

Willow sneered. "And you look like you're having the time of your life, Ms. Thorne."

The corner of Clara's mouth ticked upward.

"It's premature to celebrate before a deal is signed."

"Doesn't it get exhausting, constantly calculating every little detail?"

Clara looked right through her, her voice deadpan. "Precise calculations prevent people from mistaking someone else's property as their own."

The smirk on Willow's face solidified into a rigid mask.

Clara didn't spare her another glance as she led her entourage toward the elevators.

Standing in the center of the sprawling lobby, Willow felt with absolute certainty that doors were slamming in her face everywhere she turned.

Lawrence's door.

The project's door.

Unit 3's door.

And the door Wren was successfully tearing back open.

She crushed her phone in her grip, stripping away every last trace of feigned vulnerability from her eyes.

Since they were making it impossible to walk through the front door, she would simply change her tactics.

She would force the people inside to rip the doors wide open for her.