Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 350

Gavin spotted her and gave an amused quirk of his brow.

"Ah, Willow. Joining the party?"

Standing by the door, Willow looked exclusively at Lawrence.

"Am I interrupting you all?"

Her voice was whisper-soft, pitched just perfectly for every man in the room to hear.

Mr. Jameson laughed boisterously. "Nonsense! The missus is here, who would dare say it's an interruption?"

This time, Lawrence did not immediately correct him.

A flicker of triumph lit up Willow's eyes.

She glided to Lawrence's side as a waiter hurriedly pulled up an extra chair. She sat intimately close to him, her fingers lightly grazing his cuff before pulling away with practiced modesty—acting terrified of being caught, while making absolutely certain everyone saw.

Gavin lowered his eyes to his drink, deeply entertained by the performance.

Willow poured half a glass of warm water and pushed it toward Lawrence.

"I heard you barely touched your dinner. You're going to upset your stomach."

She handled the glass with a practiced ease, implying a deep, domestic intimacy.

The men around the table exchanged loaded glances, their grins widening suggestively.

Staring at the water, Lawrence inexplicably pictured Wren preparing his medication. She had never been this disgustingly tactile at business dinners. She would simply slip his antacids into his breast pocket before he left the house and casually remind him to pace his drinking. Her tone was always detached, but her execution was flawless.

Back then, he had dismissed her as unimaginative.

Sensing his distraction, Willow covertly rested her hand over his wrist under the table.

"Lawrence?"

Snapping back to reality, Lawrence withdrew his arm to grab the glass.

It wasn't a forceful movement, but it was abrupt enough to leave Willow's fingers hanging in thin air.

Her smile shattered for a millisecond before she expertly glued it back together.

"So, Mr. Shaw, what were you all talking about?"

Gavin chuckled. "The charity gala next week. It's focused on pediatric rehab, and since you're involved in Langford Medical's latest project, you should definitely make an appearance."

Willow's eyes sparkled greedily.

Of course she wanted to go.

An event dripping with media, corporate powerhouses, and Langford Medical's elite partners—standing by Lawrence's side there would solidify her reign. Even if Wren held the legal title, the entire city would recognize exactly who Lawrence was parading in public.

But Gavin's next sentence ruthlessly extinguished her little fantasy.

"Though for The Head Table, Lawrence definitely needs to bring Wren. A united husband-and-wife front is the easiest way to shut the tabloids up."

The smile practically fell off Willow's face.

She turned her gaze to Lawrence in sheer panic.

Lawrence remained silent, offering zero objection.

The raucous laughter in the room suddenly felt like it was trapped behind bulletproof glass—Willow could hear it, but she was locked on the outside. Earlier today, she had been blocked from entering Lawrence's office, and now, these men were shamelessly orchestrating Wren's return to power right to her face.

Her fingers curled tight, her manicured nails biting deep into her palms.

Oblivious to her mortification, Mr. Jameson babbled on. "Exactly. The official wife steps out, the gossip dies instantly. Willow here is a team player; she'll just keep you company behind closed doors."

Behind closed doors.

The four words hit her like a bucket of ice water.

Willow lowered her head and forced a brittle laugh. "Of course, I understand. As long as it benefits Lawrence, I'm happy to play my part."

She sounded like a saint, but her eyes were absolute ice.

Watching her, Gavin silently confirmed his suspicions.

This woman was far more ravenous than these oblivious old men realized.

And ravenous was good.

"Get your hands on the guest list for next week's charity gala. If Wren receives an invitation, I want to know the second it happens."

The assistant affirmed the order.

Willow added, "And don't take your eyes off Changning Road. If she wants Vivian Vance's belongings, she has to go back to that warehouse."

She stood in the damp darkness long after ending the call.

The dim club lights barely illuminated her face as the frail, damsel-in-distress act bled entirely from her eyes, leaving nothing but a toxic, vindictive chill.

Inside Lawrence's luxury sedan, Xavier glanced in the rearview mirror and spoke in a low voice. "Mr. Langford, we can coordinate with the organizers to adjust the gala invitations. Do you want it explicitly addressed to you and Ms. Whitaker as a couple?"

Lawrence stared out the tinted window.

The rain-slicked asphalt reflected the glowing streetlights, turning the city into a blur of fractured gold lines.

"Yes."

Xavier hesitated. "Ms. Whitaker will almost certainly decline."

Lawrence shut his eyes.

"Make sure you explicitly include the pediatric rehabilitation pilot program, Stellaris, and representatives from The Institutional Review Board on the VIP list."

Xavier immediately understood the play.

This was no longer a personal dinner invitation.

Wren could easily reject Lawrence, but she could not afford to reject a massive, heavily publicized medical event tied to Stellaris' survival.

Lawrence leaned back into the plush leather, massaging the knot between his eyebrows.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

And he knew it would infuriate Wren.

But every time he pictured her accepting Julian York's umbrella in the pouring rain, every time he remembered the infuriatingly easy domestic bliss the three of them had shared with Leo, a cold, suffocating weight settled over his lungs.

He absolutely refused to let that picture-perfect fantasy become her reality.