The Return of the Cannon Fodder Trillion Heiress
Chapter 868 Good Intention Backfired

Chapter 868: Chapter 868 Good Intention Backfired

When Xavier handed the bouquet to Hera, he made sure it was grand but not overwhelming—just enough for her to hold without being buried beneath it. Then, he cast a smug, pointed smirk at Alexandre, as if to say, ’Mine’s bigger, better—you might as well take your little flower and go.’

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone; his gaze dropped briefly, suggestively, toward Alexandre’s crotch before he closed the distance to Hera and placed a bold kiss on her cheek.

All of it was caught on camera, and right now, Dave was watching the footage from his office computer, laughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair. Just earlier, he had been fuming like a lion whose tail had been stepped on, but now he was practically giddy with amusement, praising Xavier’s quick thinking like a proud father.

"That’s my boy! Hahaha! Put that guy in his place!" Dave chuckled, clapping his hands. "Does he really think he can just show up and sweep Hera off her feet just because he’s smitten? Well, too bad for him. My sweetheart’s surrounded by bees and butterflies—and it’s our job to swat away the pests."

His assistant, who had been standing nearby the whole time, could only sigh and rub his temples in exasperation. Moments ago, Dave had stormed out of an important meeting, claiming a sudden stomach ache—only to rush back into his office to watch Hera’s award ceremony livestream. And when trouble began brewing on-screen, Dave had gone into full crisis mode, frantically dialing international contacts to help clear Hera’s name.

After all, she was in another country where they had no media influence, and any headline—true or false—could spread like wildfire. While Dave and his circle scrambled behind the scenes, all they could do was worry and act as fast as possible to support her.

Just when they thought things were finally settling down—thanks to Hera’s quick thinking—bam, Alexandre Arnault popped up out of nowhere, trying to charm her like some smooth-talking prince in a rom-com. Dave was instantly fuming, firing off a barrage of furious messages in their group chat.

He honestly didn’t think Xavier would have a clever way to deal with it. But then, to his pleasant surprise, Xavier swooped in like a knight in shining armor, presenting Hera with a massive bouquet of flowers. Normally, Dave hated it when his friends tried to steal Hera’s attention, but this time... he didn’t mind. Not one bit.

Maybe it was because Xavier’s sudden appearance meant someone was actively fending off Alexandre’s advances, keeping their tight circle protected from unexpected intruders. The last thing Dave wanted was for some newcomer to break in, shake up their delicate balance, and worst of all, bump him to the bottom of the pecking order.

The mere thought of it made his eye twitch. How humiliating it would be to be outranked by some fresh face—and how furious he’d be if that actually happened.

So, after cheering Xavier on with a few more encouraging messages, Dave finally returned to the meeting. As he walked back into the room, smiling like a man without a care in the world, the people seated at the negotiation table turned to look at him, impatient and clearly annoyed. Only then did Dave remember that he had bolted out claiming a "stomach emergency" and had been holed up in his office for over an hour. No wonder they were angry. These weren’t just any people—they were high-level politicians with packed schedules.

Clearing his throat, Dave tried to slide back into his seat as smoothly as possible, but before he could say a word, one of the negotiators raised an eyebrow and said dryly, "It seems Young Minister Dave just passed a big one. Your stomach must’ve been in really bad shape."

The sarcasm was sharp, and Dave winced, suddenly remembering the flimsy excuse he’d used to escape. Shifting in his seat awkwardly, he pretended not to hear the remark, feigning composure. Shameless? Maybe a little. But that didn’t mean he didn’t value these people’s time.

Acknowledging that the delay was entirely his fault, Dave took a more generous stance in the negotiations. Unlike his usual strategy, where he’d corner every advantage and leave the bare minimum for the other party, this time, he conceded a few points. He was more lenient, allowing the other side to walk away with a fair share of benefits.

In his mind, it was a small gesture of compensation for making them wait. A rare moment of mercy—brought to you by Xavier, Hera, and a suspiciously convenient "stomach ache."

And so, as the negotiation wrapped up, the room full of seasoned officials—all older men—turned their gazes toward Dave with amused, crinkled eyes. It was as if they were seeing him in a new light, perhaps even with a tinge of admiration.

One of them chuckled and said, "Young Minister Dave is truly remarkable—and quite the looker too. It seems you’ve finally learned how to yield to us old folks."

The others murmured in agreement as the man rubbed his hands together, his gaze settling on Dave a little too intently. For some reason, Dave felt a chill run down his spine.

Then the man added with a glint in his eye, "With your credentials, your face, and that sharp mind, I bet women are lining up for a chance at you. Why not consider my daughter? Or perhaps my granddaughter?"

Dave blinked.

"My granddaughter is a sweet 19," the man went on casually, "and my youngest daughter just turned 25. Both are beautiful. In fact, my daughter once won a beauty pageant—she was Miss Universe, you know. A match like that would certainly boost your public image."

Dave gave a tight smile, wondering if running off earlier was somehow still the better part of his day.

"Old man, don’t even think about it," Dave said bluntly, a sharp smile playing on his lips. "My heart, body, and soul already belonged to someone—so don’t bother trying to slip your daughter into my bed."

His words were clear, direct, and left no room for misunderstanding.

Dave wasn’t naïve. He knew exactly what kind of people he was dealing with. These men were seasoned politicians—masters of strategy who wouldn’t hesitate to bend morality if it served their goals. Sacrifices, for them, were just part of the job—whether it was for the good of the people or the advancement of their own agenda.

And the old man who had spoken? He was one of the oldest foxes in the game—wily, a bit unscrupulous, and famously mischievous in his younger years. Dave wasn’t taking any chances. He figured it was better to shut down any ideas now, clearly and publicly, before they even had a chance to take root.

"Are you two married?" the old man asked casually, catching Dave mid-sip. He choked on his coffee, coughing as the question hit him squarely in the throat. Seeing Dave’s reaction, the old man grinned widely, clearly amused.

"No? Just dating, then?" he continued, eyes gleaming. "Well, Young Minister Dave, even married couples get divorced when someone better comes along. So, how much easier would it be to break up a relationship that isn’t even legally binding?"

He chuckled heartily, clearly pleased with his own logic, and strolled off with his entourage in tow, his assistants trailing behind him with knowing smirks on their faces.

Dave’s assistant leaned closer and whispered, "Young Minister, I think your generosity may have just backfired... and now you’ve landed yourself in a rather sticky situation."

"Shut up!" Dave snapped, his voice thundering through the room. He was beyond livid. ’That old fossil—was he actually cursing him, hoping Hera would dump him? Over his dead body.’

’Break up with Hera?Not in this lifetime.’ He clenched his fists. ’No, I’m going to cling to her so tightly she won’t even have the chance to think of leaving. I’ll bury that old man’s scheme before it ever sees the light of day.’

Fueled by fury, Dave stormed back into his office and started dialing a series of numbers. If he could give that old fox a good opportunity, he could just as easily take it away. And if needed, crush every plan that man dared to hatch.

A dangerous glint flashed in Dave’s eyes as he began plotting his counterattack.

Off to the side, his assistant shivered slightly and rubbed his temples. ’Here we go again...’ He had seen this side of Dave before—the calculating, merciless strategist hidden beneath the polished smile of a Young Minister. It was no wonder someone so young had risen so fast.

Unfortunately for that old fox, he’d just poked a sleeping tiger—and now it was wide awake.

While Dave was busy on the phone, scheming against the old fox who had just left, Rafael leaned back in his leather chair, eyes fixed on the screen. He watched Hera and Xavier with a faint smile tugging at his lips. Xavier had done well, pushing back Alexandre Arnault—a man not easily shaken off. Given the chance, Alexandre might’ve wormed his way beside Hera, and once he took root, getting rid of him would be near impossible.

"What’s got you looking so pleased, Mr. Briley?" asked a voice nearby. It was Lucas Freed’s manager, holding a steaming cup of coffee as he walked in casually.

"Nothing," Rafael replied, snapping back to reality and glancing down at the file in front of him. "So, what brings you here?"

"Oh, I just came by to update you. Lucas’s debut songs are finalized, and we’re wrapping up the rest of the launch preparations. I wanted to confirm the budget for the debut—make sure we’re aligned."

"Lucas Freed?" Rafael frowned, finally looking up with a puzzled expression. "Who’s that?"

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