Chapter 569

Eleanor locked eyes with Alberto Patrick. Her exquisitely beautiful face remained unreadable, the expression neutral, cold even. But her gaze, calm and unflinching, carried a piercing sharpness that sliced straight through the noise of the room. She looked at Alberto as though she were nothing more than an irritating speck of dust—insignificant, forgettable. And that, more than anything, drove Alberto wild. In Eleanor’s silence, she saw nothing but naked contempt. Disdain. A deliberate refusal to acknowledge her superiority. "You are..." Alberto began, but her voice trembled with restrained fury. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as her expression twisted into something almost grotesque with rage. Never—never—had someone looked at her like that. Not her classmates, not her peers in the industry, not even critics. Certainly not a has-been like this so-called "Susan." “Miss Alberto,” Nahashon interrupted quickly, trying to cut the growing tension before it exploded. Hi