?Chapter 671:


    Greta leaned in, curiosity buzzing under her skin. Brenna was almost brilliant at everything. Would she also be good at singing?


    If that were the case, then life would be so unfair.


    Across the room, Patrick sat hunched over his phone, having a video call with Ellie and Thiago. “Brenna’s about to sing. Can you do something to stop her?” he asked.


    He couldn’t forget the nights Brenna hummed him to sleeppletely off-key, every note a disaster.


    On the screen, Ellie and Thiago lounged in matching linen outfits, sunshine glinting off the waves behind them. Patrick scowled. They had gone on a trip without bringing him along.


    Ellie and Thiago burst outughing. Brenna could do almost anything, but when it came to singing, she was hopeless. Yet she herself didn’t believe she was always off-key when she sang.


    Ellie grinned. “Get her to pick up the call; save yourself while you still can.”


    “Brenna!” Patrick hurried over, eyes wide. “Mommy and Thiago are on the line; they want to talk to you!”


    Joe had just lined up the ylist, eager for Brenna to sing. He shot Patrick a look of displeasure. “Patrick, let Brenna sing first.”


    But Patrick shook his head with determination. “No, Mommy said it’s really important. She has to talk to Brenna right now.”


    If Brenna started singing, she wouldn’t want to stop at just one song—she would sing at least ten. That was worse than torture. Patrick believed his ears weren’t ready for that suffering.


    With a desperate look, he yanked the mic from Brenna’s hands, put it elsewhere, and practically dragged her aside to take the call from Ellie.


    Brenna’s employees had no clue how narrowly they had avoided a disaster.


    The party rolled on.


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    Meanwhile, Greta kept sneaking nces toward the door, waiting for Ethan to return. But he never did. Even by the time the party ended around one in the morning, he still hadn’te back.


    The party had left everyone drunk; some were swaying just trying to stand. There was no way Brenna would risk letting them drive, so she quickly arranged for a group of designated drivers.


    She always paid her employees well—solid sries and hefty bonuses—so they all had their own cars.


    Brenna didn’t make her way to her own car until everyone else had been safely seen off.


    Neville stood off to the side, waiting for her. “Mr. Mitchell asked me to drive you home. He’sying a trap for Maxley and Rosie tonight. Told me not to wait for him.”


    That piqued Brenna’s interest. “What exactly is he nning to do to those two?”


    Neville still hadn’t forgiven Rosie and Maxley for what had happened in Plieca. He had lost a chunk of his hair because of them.


    He had been assigned to investigate the incident, and he discovered that Rosie and Maxley were the masterminds. But the pair thought they were brilliant, convinced no one would trace it back to them. That misced confidence was exactly why they had the nerve to meet Ethan again, thinking they could trick him.


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