Chapter 12
At Zion Club, Myra finally found Estelle, who was sneaking around in the corner of the hall, with the help of a waiter.
When Myra approached, Estelle was absentmindedly pouring lemon juice into her champagne, her gaze frequently darting to a corridor near her seat.
“What are you looking at?” Myra asked, pulling out the chair next to her. As she sat down, she felt the dizziness that had been plaguing her all day start to subside a little.
Estelle’s eyes immediately brightened when she saw Myra. She waved her over and lowered her voice excitedly. “Do you know the third son of the Hart Family?”
Myra, already aware of what Estelle was hinting at, didn’t seem as enthusiastic. Instead, she took a calm sip of the lemon juice and reminded her, “Estelle, it’s only been a week since you broke up with your ex-boyfriend.”
Estelle slapped her thighs in mock frustration and rolled her eyes at Myra. “Well, at least we broke up!” she huffed. Then, with a dramatic flair, she couldn’t help but continue. “I’m serious this time! The other day, I saw him at City Hall. He was wearing a white shirt and black suit—simple, but it made him look like an angel! I’m absolutely sure he’s a gentleman. Everything he does makes my heart race… Myra, I must get his attention and marry him!”
“Myra, you always criticize me.” Estelle’s face fell, and she dramatically wiped at her eyes, showcasing her award-winning acting skills that had earned her a Golden Globe. “No wonder my relationships never work out.”
Myra, not one for theatrical displays, pinched Estelle’s forehead with a resigned sigh. “Alright, I support your pursuit. Go for it! I’m sure you can do it.”
Estelle’s face lit up, and her bright smile was dazzling as ever, one that had enchanted both men and women alike throughout her career. “You’re the best! So, can you get Shawn’s phone number for me?”
Myra raised an eyebrow. “Shawn Hart? The third son of the Hart Family? I don’t know him.”
“Hehe! You might not know him, but you know the fourth son—Young Master Tony. My brother saw you two having a meal together at the Ritz Carlton yesterday. Are you doing business with him? Just ask him for Shawn’s number, Myra!” Estelle’s excitement was palpable, her eyes sparkling with hope.
The mention of Tony brought an immediate shift in Myra’s mood. Tony’s cold and distant face appeared in her mind. Ask Director Hart for his brother’s phone number? The thought seemed almost laughable, but she shook her head. “I’m not close to Director Hart at all. I’ve only spoken to him once.” And I didn’t make a good impression on him.
Estelle’s expression faltered, her eyes welling up with tears as she put on her most pitiful face. “Myra, you just said you’d support me. This is such a small favor. Why are you refusing me?” she asked in a voice filled with mock hurt.
Myra sighed, unable to resist her friend’s dramatic antics. “Okay, okay. I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.”
Estelle’s demeanor shifted from sorrow to sheer joy in an instant. “No problem! That’s all I ask. As long as you try!” With that, her attention suddenly shifted as she looked across the room, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
She quickly got up from her seat. “I was planning to talk to you about Sean, but now’s not the time. I’ll ask you out again later! Don’t worry, I already know about Eris, and I’ve made sure she won’t last in the showbiz world. She’s done for!”
Myra was caught off guard by Estelle’s words, but before she could respond, Estelle shot her a quick glance and then turned her gaze toward another corner of the hall. Myra, still processing what Estelle had said, watched as Estelle made her way toward a group of people leaving a private room.
“What are you doing?” Myra whispered, a little stunned, as Estelle’s words sank in.
Estelle stopped in her tracks, turning back to glare at Myra. “You’re an idiot!” she said sharply. “What’s so great about Sean? I’ve had two dozen boyfriends, yet you’re still hanging on to him! How long are you planning to stay stuck in a loveless marriage?”
With a final stomp of her foot, Estelle joined the group, leaving Myra sitting there in a daze.
As she watched Estelle walk away with her usual carefree attitude, Myra felt the weight of her own emotions. If only I could be like Estelle, she thought wistfully. She breaks up with a man as easily as she changes her clothes, and here I am, unable to move forward.
She stared blankly at the glass of lemon juice in front of her, her thoughts swirling.