Overbearing CEO's Contract Love
Chapter 272: Going Home

Chapter 272: Going Home

"That is..." Emma Hart’s gaze fell upon the old man’s magazine, Design Expo, a well-known publication in the design world. Emma often read it too, though she mostly perused the digital version. "You’re out of the loop; everyone’s moved on to digital magazines now, you know?"

"But I still prefer the paper ones." The old man followed Emma’s gaze to his magazine, sensing her interest in the copy. "Do you like design as well?"

Emma nodded but didn’t reach for the magazine. Instead, she sat next to the old man, her eyes drifting towards the distant shadow of a window cast by the sunlight, a hint of loss in her gaze. "But it’s of no use, really."

"What do you mean, ’of no use’?" From the first day he saw her, he knew she was not ordinary. In such a luxurious hospital, she definitely wasn’t from an average family, not to mention the way she arrived, surrounded by a fleet of nurses—a sure sign of a particularly special status. Yet, it seemed she didn’t quite enjoy this special care.

"I can’t do what I love." Emma’s words fluttered with a flick of her long lashes, her eyes dropping to her stomach as she gently stroked it, communicating with the baby inside. It was her way of sharing her emotions with her unborn child, as if to transmit her joy and sorrows.

"Must you give up your dreams just because of the child in your belly? Miss, I can see that you live a life of plenty, but I can also tell that you harbor dreams," the old man stated firmly, his experience in reading people telling him what emotions were genuine and what were not.

Dreams? Emma had come to feel that dreams had little to do with her anymore, smiling faintly. "I don’t really have dreams; my dream is to make money!"

Emma spoke reluctantly, but that was the stark reality. Originally, she had joined the company simply to repay a debt to a man, and although it was barely making a dent, it was the only way. Later, she completed many designs for Amelia Davidson, all motivated by the high compensation. Emma Hart had no dreams left, just realities to face.

"Dreams are for those who are prepared!" The old man looked up, seeing Emma Hart’s bright smile bathed in sunlight, so serene it seemed almost a sin to disturb. That smile always left the old man deeply concerned.

"How do I not recall that saying going quite like that?"

"Try it and you’ll see. Why not create a design you love, anything at all, and see if dreams can indeed turn into reality?"

The old man flipped to the last page of Design Expo, where in golden lettering on a black background it announced: New Designers Competition!

The gleaming text caught Emma’s attention, below it darkness, much like the way she saw her path forward—obscure. Yet those words definitely entered Emma Hart’s vision.

She suddenly wanted to go home, to fetch her laptop, to do many things. Emma pointed to the magazine, and without a word, the old man understood her intent, "It’s yours!"

Emma took the magazine back to her room and placed it under her pillow, as if she truly possessed a dream now.

However, Emma was also captivated by a line: The winner of the design contest will receive a million-dollar prize!

A million dollars? While significant in Emma Hart’s life, it was trivial to Damien Sterling, president of the Sterling Group, and even less so compared to the debt she owed him. Yet, it was an amount a regular office worker couldn’t hope to achieve in the short term.

In the boardroom.

People sat around the long table, barely daring to breathe, their eyes fixed on the person presenting at the front. All because of the man sitting at the head of the table—none other than Damien Sterling, who leaned back, his dark eyes always seeming to focus intently ahead. He wasn’t doodling on a notepad, nor did his expression give away anything.

The presenter was exceedingly cautious, fearing any mistake, as this directly impacted the future cooperation between two companies.

By the end of his presentation, his forehead was covered with sweat. He respectfully stepped aside to gauge any reaction on Damien Sterling’s face, but Damien remained silent, his gaze still fixed on the screen where the report had been displayed, lost in thought.

The oppressive atmosphere created by Damien Sterling filled the conference room with a palpable tension. Amid the silence, a ringtone suddenly pierced the air. Everyone underneath the podium scrambled, fumbling for their phones, but in an effort to maintain meeting decorum, all had left their devices outside.

After the ringing ceased, Damien slowly pulled his phone from his pocket. His phone was uniquely configured, and during meetings, no one dared call him—except one person.

Damien took out his phone and answered immediately, while everyone else quietly exited the conference room. What others couldn’t do, Damien could. Calls that others couldn’t receive, Emma Hart could.

"I want to go home!" Emma’s voice boomed through the phone the moment he answered, prompting Damien to pull the phone away until her shouting subsided. He then brought it back to his ear.

"What did you just say?"

"I! Want! To! Go! Home!"

"Have the doctor call me!" Damien leaned forward, his expression stern and serious.

"Um, I’ll go ask the doctor right now," Emma hurriedly added, then quickly followed up, "The doctor said I can go home."

Emma was improvising on her end, and Damien, on his end, couldn’t be bothered to call her out on her act.

The call ended, and as the attendees gradually returned to the conference room, Damien suddenly stood up, "Let’s go back."

The room was filled with bewildered faces, and the person who had been reporting looked utterly confused, unsure if he had misspoken.

"Mr. Sterling, we have plans this evening. Where are we heading now? Back to the hotel or somewhere else?" His assistant followed closely behind Damien, cautiously inquiring. This was unusual behavior, quite out of character from the always methodical Damien Sterling. The assistant reviewed the schedule on his notepad—Damien was supposed to decide on an investment matter and prepare for the next meeting within this time frame, and in forty minutes, he was to spare half an hour for an interview with a local financial magazine, followed by a dinner engagement in the evening...

"Home," Damien stated calmly as he stopped walking.

The assistant closed his mouth. Despite being puzzled by Damien’s decision, he wasn’t in a position to make schedule adjustments for him. With a respectful bow, he replied, "Yes, Mr. Sterling, I’ll arrange the plane right away."

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