Chapter 283:

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Kristopher’s expression softened marginally. He addressed the waiter. “A bottle of mineral water.”

“Kristopher, how could you—” Albin began, only to be silenced by Kristopher’s glacial stare.

Camille raised her hand. “Mango juice for me.”

“Me too,” Albin chimed in.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you seriously copying me?”

“Copying? No way. I just like mango,” Albin countered.

Carrie pressed her fingers to her temple. How did these two manage to transform every interaction into an argument?

The waiter turned to her. “What would you like, Miss?”

“Iced cola,” she responded evenly.

He cast her a subtle, unreadable glance before quietly departing to fulfill their orders.

Carrie’s phone buzzed, shattering the lull in the conversation. A glance revealed a message from the script company: “Are you available at the moment?” The sender was typically no-nonsense, so this formality felt oddly out of place. Carrie figured they were probably scrambling for the script, so she typed back quickly, “It’s a holiday, and I’m back in my hometown. I’ll send the script as soon as I return. It won’t throw off the schedule.”

“There are some issues on our end. Put the rest of the script on hold for now.”

“What kind of issues?” Carrie asked, confident that as long as the instructions were clear, her scripts would hit the mark without fail. The vagueness of the response made her suspect something more troubling might be brewing behind the scenes.

This time, the reply took an agonizingly long moment to arrive: “We haven’t finalized things with the client yet. We’ll let you know when there’s an update.”

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Carrie frowned, taken aback. Everything had been smooth sailing until the final stretch, and now the waters were choppy. It seemed the promise of easy money was as fleeting as a rainbow after a storm.

Before she could dwell on it, Camille slapped a hand over her phone. “Why are you glued to your phone when we’re out having fun? You’re sucking all the joy out of the room!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” Carrie said, switching off her screen and tucking the phone away. “The client’s unhappy about something. Hopefully, they won’t ask for revisions. Besides filming, I’ve got a few events lined up.” She clasped her hands together in mock prayer.

Camille threw a glance at Kristopher. “You’ve got more money than you’ll ever spend, but you won’t give Carrie a dime after the divorce? She’s breaking her back with filming and still has to take side gigs to keep the lights on?”

Albin, lounging with one leg draped over the other, almost toppled off his chair. He scrambled to sit upright, his forehead damp with sudden sweat. “Eat your food,” Albin said hastily, shoveling more onto Camille’s plate with his fork.

Camille pushed the plate away, her face scrunched with annoyance. “What am I, a pig? How am I supposed to eat with a mountain of food in front of me?” She shot Albin a glare before swinging back to Kristopher. “What’s the deal? What are you hiding? Where am I wrong? He’s been running around with Lise, which, if you ask me, is practically cheating! He’s the one in the wrong here. It’s already generous enough not to demand half of his assets. Why should Carrie walk away empty-handed? Carrie’s keeping quiet because she’s being gracious, but you’re just taking advantage. Isn’t that bullying?”

Kristopher, who had just pulled out a cigarette, set it back down. Slowly, he replied, “First, I never mentioned divorce, and I never agreed to it when she brought it up. Second, I’ve never withheld anything from her. If she wants to make her own money, she has to deal with the headaches that come with it. Adults don’t get to make choices without accepting the consequences.”

Familiar with his cold, calculated tone, Carrie didn’t bat an eye. He spoke less like a husband and more like a detached executive dissecting a business deal—his words carried logic, stripped of any warmth. Her emotions had been drained long ago.

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