Forced to Marry the Sickly Billionaire
Chapter 222: The Mistress is Supreme

Chapter 222: Chapter 222: The Mistress is Supreme

Lost in thought, Vincent Carter suddenly came over and helped adjust their positions.

Before leaving, he glared fiercely at Edwin Charles, "Be careful, don’t lay your hands on our Serena, or you won’t get off easy."

Originally, Serena Summers’s part didn’t require a costume photo shoot.

But the role of the third female lead was too eye-catching, a thorn in many people’s side.

Therefore, Vincent Carter decided to take a set of photos for them as well.

The second male lead’s face turned even redder, the entire person exuding an air of embarrassment.

Most of the time, he would cast his eyes downward, not daring to look at Serena Summers.

Only when the photographer reminded them did he dare to briefly meet Serena’s gaze.

By the time they finished, it was already afternoon.

Everyone was so busy they hadn’t had the chance to eat lunch, so Vincent Carter, with a grand gesture, said to the people: "We didn’t get to eat properly when we wrapped up shooting; let’s go, I’ve booked meals at Flavor Pavilion, shall we all go together?"

"Flavor Pavilion? The Flavor Pavilion I’m thinking of? The one that even the wealthy can’t necessarily get a reservation at?"

Someone posed a sincere question.

Vincent Carter paused for a moment and nodded with a smile, "You guessed right, it’s that one."

He paused again, his gaze falling on Lucas Shaw, with a slight smile at the corner of his mouth, "Actually, it’s not me who’s treating everyone. It’s our President Shaw. Thank you all for taking care of Serena during this time."

Lucas Shaw glanced at him indifferently before rising from his chair.

He stood tall and straight, his face cold, his head lowered as he straightened his slightly creased suit.

Such a simple action, yet it presented a pleasing sight.

With a keen eye, Serena noticed something amiss and immediately walked up to him, holding his hand in hers, and asked in surprise, "What happened to your hand? How did you get injured all of a sudden?"

The hands, already wrapped in a layer of gauze, were faintly seeping with blood traces, staining the gauze red.

Like red plums blossoming in the snow, exceptionally eye-catching.

Lucas Shaw felt a bit sheepish, wanting to pull back his hand, "It’s nothing, just a small injury."

But Serena didn’t believe his words.

She looked past Lucas Shaw and inquired with her eyes at his subordinate.

The subordinate glanced at Serena and then at Lucas Shaw, and finally, ignoring President Shaw’s warning gaze, spilled the details of what had just happened.

Lucas Shaw: "..."

Where was his deterrent effect?

The subordinate, receiving Lucas Shaw’s gaze, helplessly said, "Sir, you said when the lady isn’t here, we listen to you, but when she is, she’s the boss."

Lucas Shaw: "..."

Did he dig a hole and bury himself in it?

Serena raised her head and glowered reproachfully, "It was just a photo shoot, what’s with the overreaction?"

Meeting Serena’s clear eyes, Lucas Shaw felt a twinge of grievance, "You haven’t taken such official photos with me yet! I just saw it, you were about to kiss him."

"It didn’t happen, right!" Serena said helplessly, touching her forehead, then suddenly rose on her tiptoes, pulled at the man’s tie, and lifted her face to press her lips against his.

The touch was brief, but it was like a soothing balm for unsettled emotions.

Looking at the girl’s eyes, brimming with a smile, Lucas Shaw suddenly felt all his jealousy evaporate.

Brandon Reese was right; all of that was fake.

What’s fake can never become real.

So, Serena is his.

And will only be his.

He bent down, disregarded the onlookers around him, scooped Serena into his arms, and strode out.

Passing by Vincent Carter, he paused slightly, saying, "I’ll wait for you guys at Flavor Pavilion."

After that, he quickly left.

Watching his impatient steps, Vincent Carter shook his head helplessly and said to the actors and crew behind him, "Hurry up and follow."

Serena Summers was embraced into the car by Lucas Shaw and before she could react, a shadow loomed over her.

"Hubby... Mmph." Just as Serena tried to speak, her lips were sealed.

The clean and pleasant scent of the man’s body, mingled with the essence of his masculine hormones, enveloped her.

Gently licking and rolling over her lips.

One hand clasped her slender, soft waist while the other pressed against the back of her head, not allowing her to pull back.

Deepening the kiss gradually.

A blush gradually crept up Serena’s cheeks, her teeth pried apart as he conquered every part of her.

She retreated step by step, overwhelmed by his kisses, temporarily unable to distinguish north from south.

Until she gradually started to struggle to breathe, she frowned slightly and pushed on the man’s chest.

The man let her go in response, his dark eyes fixed on her intensely, as if there was a huge vortex in them, seemingly ready to completely suck her in.

"Why did you suddenly kiss me?" Serena glared at him with a flushed face.

Her watery eyes lacked any lethality and seemed more like she was pouting.

As if a hook had scraped at the tip of his heart, a tingling sensation spread.

Lucas Shaw grabbed her waist and sat her on his thighs, his chin gently rubbing against her shoulder.

"Wife."

"Hmm?"

"Wife."

"What is it?"

Lucas Shaw paused for a moment, holding Serena’s hand and tentatively asked, "Shall we go take photos too?"

"Huh? What made you suddenly think of taking photos?" Serena asked in surprise.

Could it be that something had provoked him?

Lucas Shaw sighed, a touch of plaintive longing in his eyes, "We’ve both been too busy lately, spending too little time with each other. You’ve taken so many photos with other men, what’s wrong with taking a few with your own husband?"

In the end, he was just feeling jealous.

That incident from before hadn’t been completely let go by him.

Serena found it somewhat amusing and nodded in response to his expectant gaze, "Sure, we really haven’t taken many photos together."

Soon, the car stopped in front of the Flavor Pavilion.

The group walked in, an impressive procession.

Someone in the crowd murmured softly, "It really is Flavor Pavilion. With so many of us, can we all really get in?"

They couldn’t be blamed for their concerns—Flavor Pavilion was notoriously hard to get into.

There were rumors that even with money, reservations could not be guaranteed.

Securing one private room was already remarkable enough; their group combined definitely exceeded thirty people.

Could they possibly be turned away?

However, the worries were unfounded.

The wait staff stood at the entrance with utmost respect, welcoming them in.

Even those dressed quite ordinarily were not met with any disdain from the staff.

Many expressed surprised delight and followed somewhat uncomfortably inside.

"Here’s to everyone for the happy wrap-up! Thank you all for your hard work during this period!" Vincent Carter stood up, raising his glass to everyone.

Everyone rose to their feet, glasses in hand.

The meal was satisfyingly sumptuous, with everyone well-fed and in high spirits.

The cuisine at Flavor Pavilion was expensive for a reason, leaving many too engrossed in eating to talk.

It was simply too delicious!

The meat was fresh and succulent, the plating exquisite, and the seafood was kept remarkably fresh without any fishy taste.

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