Chapter 97: Little Goblin

She was indeed a bit afraid that she might lose control and infuriate those three difficult old men to the point of a fit or even a heart attack on the spot. These three old men, one had a face full of wrinkles and eyes that were always wide and round. One spoke slowly and measuredly, but every word was as sharp as a knife. And the last one had a facade of amiability, but was actually the shrewdest of them all. Any one of them, just a glance could give you a headache, let alone facing the pressure of all three of them combined. Although Clara Bennett was fairly confident in her emotional control, these old men were really adept at manipulating emotions, and there was a chance she might get provoked. And thinking of such consequences, a slightly malevolent smile appeared at the corners of her mouth: Wouldn’t it be quite a spectacle if that really happened? But it’s better to stay controlled, not letting certain people with ulterior motives take advantage of the situation. However, she didn’t say much more, just stood up from the wheelchair and waved her hand with an air of nonchalance: "Well, I’ll be going now?" William Foster helplessly tugged at the corners of his lips, it seemed she had no intention of responding to the emotions he just stirred up. He had used a slightly teasing tone earlier, trying to get her to stay a little longer, but who knew this little ancestor wouldn’t bite at all, gave no face, just directly tossed out a farewell and prepared to leave. He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly: this little girl is really used to being uninhibited, as expected, relying on her to cooperate gently is an extremely difficult thing. Forget it, anyway, there’s no special plan for tonight. He said to her, "Let the driver take you back." Though it was knowingly asking, it was indeed his way of expressing concern for anyone. Even a rebellious girl like her was, in his eyes, someone who needed to be cared for. Clara Bennett replied, "Alright." After Clara Bennett left, William Foster got up directly from the wheelchair and strode toward the bathroom. Over an hour later, William Foster came out wearing only a towel. His black short hair was still dripping, his eyes carrying a lazy yet dangerous charm. Those eyes seemed to hold storms and stars, with a touch of wickedness amid the depth, as if they were waiting for the moment when the prey fell into the trap. The water droplets slipped from his forehead, glided over his defined cheeks, firm chest, and perfect abs, finally disappearing silently into his skin. At that moment, the mesmerizing scene was practically a work of art, especially as the sunlight through the windows hit his bare shoulders, showcasing the male hormones to the fullest. This powerful male charm radiated from his whole body, enough to make one’s legs weak. The tall figure, nearly 1.9 meters, leaning against the sofa was like a king dominating the world, no trace of the gentle and refined look he had in front of Clara Bennett, instead appearing downright wild. His legs casually crossed, one arm resting on the sofa armrest, while the other hand gently brushed his wet hair. The commanding presence and inherent authority turned the entire room instantly into his domain. Every move and gesture displayed the top-tier quality of someone from the elite circle, cold and decisive, while also full of deadly allure. He picked up the inline phone and called in Arthur Davis. When Arthur Davis walked in, William Foster instructed, "Have someone keep an eye on the current movements of the woman Hazel Wind is dating lately. She seems to be working for Young Madam, don’t interfere, lend a hand if necessary, but don’t disrupt Young Madam’s plans." The voice was low and magnetic, full of irresistible force. The phrase "that woman" naturally referred to Hazel Wind’s new girlfriend, who appeared ordinary, but from various details, it was evident this person was no simple character. At least, the person backing her was worthy of his cautious treatment. As for lending a hand, it was to balance the situation, ensuring everything remained under control. Arthur Davis respectfully replied, "Understood, Mr. William Foster." William Foster did not need to know exactly what Clara Bennett was up to, he only knew that as long as his little wife was willing to make a fuss, he would keep things covered for her. Even if Clara Bennett’s methods were sharp, her style unique, or sometimes chaotic, as long as the goal aligned with family interests and did not breach the bottom line, all these were within his permitted range. As for the remaining complex trivial matters, she need not worry too much, as someone had long arranged all her retreats, and that person was himself. Thinking of how charming she looked when she whispered close to his ear earlier, his breathing involuntarily became heavy, chest slightly heaving, and his brow wrinkled due to inner turmoil. Her breath lightly brushed against his ear, the subtle warmth and gentle voice seemed to inject a silent storm into his mind. This ambiguous stance made his heart beat faster uncontrollably, every nerve in his body tensed up as if resisting, yet as if responding. This little temptress, who can possibly resist! She was naturally such a captivating woman, every gesture could ensnare people’s dreams and reveries. Especially when she deliberately leaned close to him, those clear eyes flickering with cunning, it was as if she cast a net, effortlessly capturing others’ hearts. William Foster helplessly took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but the hidden restlessness lingered, persistent in his heart. Besides, her new film had emotional scenes. Just thinking about it made his mood even more complicated. Clara Bennett, as an actress, portraying intimate interactions with other men in front of the camera was indeed a torment for him. He pictured scenes of her acting with other male actors in his mind: Would her gaze be that tender? Would her smile be that bright? Would they be too close, too real? Such thoughts accumulated, surging like tides, making him feel stuffy and repressed, even his posture subconsciously stiffened. The more he thought about it, the more suffocated he felt, so William Foster simply reached out and pressed the call button on the table, summoning Secretary Sam Clarke. He desperately needed to shift his focus, otherwise, those chaotic thoughts might drive him crazy. Sam Clarke had just stepped into the office door, not yet standing firm, when the boss asked bluntly, "Has the investment for Young Madam’s film been secured?" William Foster’s gaze was locked directly on her, his tone calm yet with a hint of urgency that couldn’t be ignored. He knew this funding was crucial, after all, it was his way of supporting Clara Bennett. Even if he couldn’t openly be by her side, he wanted to ensure she had no worries in her career. Sam Clarke paused for a moment, then quickly adjusted her expression and respectfully replied, "Everything is settled, the official contract can be signed tomorrow. Also, as per your request, we are investing under another company’s name and have not disclosed your name. The whole process is very low-key and discreet."