?Chapter 941:


    Yvonne’s jaw clenched, fury surging through her like wildfire.


    Without wasting another second, she hailed a cab and gave the driver her home address through gritted teeth. She refused to believe that every magazinepany in Amberfield was so intimidated by Norton’s influence.


    She crossed her arms tightly, ring out the window. The more Norton tried to hold her back, the more determined she became to find a job on her own and prove herself.


    The moment she stepped inside her house, she tossed her bag aside, flipped open herptop, and dove into job hunting like it was war.


    If Norton was in her way, then he probably couldn’t be trusted either. That meant it was just her now.


    It was fine—she was more than enough. She got this!


    Her fingers flew across the keyboard,bing through listings on every major fashion outlet she could find.


    The bigger the name, the stronger her desire to work there.


    Among them all, onepany made her heart race just by reading the name—Stylist Magazine. It was new on the scene, but it had already shaken up the fashion world, its covers a badge of honor for A-listers. Even with all its celebrity mour, Stylist stayed loyal to its outdoor roots, neverpromising its artistic integrity.


    Yvonne applied to over ten of the biggest magazines in the city, one application after the next, like arrows fired with purpose.


    She swore she would get in, even if it meant starting at the bottom fetching coffee or filing reports.


    After a day that drained her to the bone, she scrubbed off the fatigue in the shower and copsed into bed.


    As for Norton—wherever he was tonight, he still hadn’te back, and that suited her just fine.


    The less she saw of him, the less likely she was to blow up from sheer frustration.


    But peace never stayed long. Just as she was drifting off, the front door creaked open.


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    Her entire body stiffened. That smug face of Norton’s was enough to make her blood boil. She hesitated, then quickly turned over and squeezed her eyes shut. If he thought she was asleep, maybe he would leave her alone.


    Right on cue, she heard the door click shut, followed by slow, steady footsteps climbing the stairs.


    Heart pounding, she yanked the covers over her head and forced her breathing to slow to a steady rhythm.


    The door creaked open, and the sharp sound of Norton’s polished shoes against the floorboards made her chest tighten.


    Every step closer made her heart thud louder. Shey still, barely daring to blink. Then silence. Norton had stopped—he was right next to the bed, not moving an inch.


    She strained to hear something, anything, but the quiet was suffocating.


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