The Fake Group Darling Picked a Fight with the Real Boss Chapter 09

The Fake Group Darling Picked a Fight with the Real Boss Chapter 09

I hid the ticket.

That very midnight, his fever spiked, and he was rushed to the hospital.

The doctor’s exact words were, “If you had delayed another half-day, his life would’ve been in

danger.”

When he woke up the next morning, I was sitting by his hospital bed

First thing I said was, “I took the ticket.”

We had a massive row.

He stayed furious with me for three days.

On the fourth day, he showed up at my place carrying juice.

After hearing the whole story, Sylvie looked completely frozen.

“She made decisions for you! She ruined your competition! How… how could you possibly

accept that?”

Colson sighed, looking at Manuel, then back at me. “Sylvie, telling him this is totally useless.”

Then he unloaded right on the spot.

“Manuel, you’re genuinely hopeless. Harleigh will gladly shelter you from the rain, but you never care where the storm came from in the first place.”

Everyone at the table couldn’t hold back their laughter.

Yet Manuel corrected him with absolute deadpan seriousness, “It’s different.”

“Every time she pulls something mischievous, she tells me immediately afterward.”

With that, he turned to Sylvie, his tone completely flat.

“Whereas every time you crossed the line over the past year… Didn’t you always start by saying, ‘Don’t overthink it’?”

With a single sentence, Sylvie’s last shred of dignity was stripped bare.

That was the truth.

I was bossy, opinionated, sneaky, and my tactics could occasionally be quite wicked.

But my mischief was always out in the open, never hiding behind “I did it for your own good” or “We’re just friends.”

Sylvie stood frozen, the color draining completely from her face.

Her biggest miscalculation tonight was never about competing with me for Manuel.

It was realizing, only now, that this group of people knew exactly what kind of person I was all

along.

The person they liked was precisely who I was.

In the end, Sylvie left.

Nobody stopped her.

When she reached the terrace door, her steps visibly slowed.

Slow enough that Trevor thought her shoelace was untied.

She was waiting for someone to chase after her. Over the past year, whenever she said she was “upset,” someone always comforted her.

Yet not a single person moved for a long while.

Trevor glanced at the glass she left behind, picked up a napkin, and tossed the glass into the

trash along with it.

Colson went back to his skewers.

That indifference embarrassed her far more than any harsh words ever could.