Innocent of the unfolding events, Sylvia perched on the bed, clutching her phone.

She rubbed her eyes and questioned, "Mr. Fowler, are you certain? The project is intricate. It'll require a minimum of a year for full integration."

"Then I'll commit to a year there," Marcus affirmed without hesitation.

A sense of foreboding dawned on Sylvia. Boldly, she inquired, “Mr. Fowler, did Melissa upset you? Haha. The young lady holds significant sway. Are you wary of her?"

Marcus sneered. "Do you wish to accompany me abroad for the next year?"

"No, Mr. Fowler! I was only joking!"

Marcus, resolute in his decision, directed, "Organize the details.

Assemble four individuals from finance department, another four from business department, plus the two of us.”

Despite Sylvia's inclination to plead, Marcus terminated the call without mercy.

Sylvia found herself rendered speechless.

Marcus, grappling with a strained relationship, vented his frustrations on Sylvia, his capable subordinate.

Sylvia contemplated resigning.

Clutching her husband's collar, she demanded with intensity, "Tell me you earn ten million dollars annually. Say it!."

Her husband shifted, enveloping her in his embrace. After a while, he succumbed to snores.

Sylvia vigorously pinched his face.

He retorted, "I don't earn ten million dollars a year, but I can accompany you to Livebop."

Satisfaction finally swept over Sylvia.

On the other side, Marcus, having discharged his pent-up frustration, experienced a newfound sense of ease.

Sipping his water gradually, he strolled to the bedroom, yet his gaze involuntarily flickered toward the door.

Marcus presumed Melissa had departed.