She Became Rich After Divorce by Georgina Lane

Chapter 619: Finding a Way

Benson indulgently and tenderly smiled at her, while tidying up the things on the table, preparing to serve the

meal. Meanwhile, Cheyenne rose and walked slowly towards the sink.

His gaze casually glanced at the half-finished pattern, vaguely making out a lotus flower. The drawing was

exquisite and lifelike.

"Cheyenne, you're really talented. But... why do you work so hard to draw so much?" She used to dabble in

drawing when she was in the mood, but definitely not the "prolific" type. It was an accomplishment to produce

one painting in a year.

As Cheyenne stood at the sink, carefully washing her hands, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, her bright

red lips and dazzling appearance catching her own eye.

She couldn't help but take a few more glances.

"Hmm? | want to improve Wind Hall's financial situation. | checked their account balance and it's less than three

hundred thousand."

"When | visited Yvonne's room, | found that she only has four sets of clothes in her wardrobe, rotating them

through the four seasons."

"Jay toldthat Yvonne has been using her own money to pay everyone's salaries. But she's limited by her

abilities. You've also seen how many parasites are in Wind Hall."

So her first task was to clean out the parasites; the second was to raise funds and truly develop the talent within

Wind Hall. Talent is the thof development. Therefore, as educational funds, she didn't want to make things

difficult for Yvonne anymore, so she decided to work a bit harder and take these paintings to auction.

Benson let out a soft, melancholy sigh, took out a card from his pocket, and walked up behind Cheyenne.

Looking at her weary face in the mirror after a whole day's work, he felt a pang of heartache.

"Cheyenne, why didn't you tellyou needed money? | have ssavings... they're the awards | won a few

years ago, and the profits from my personal concerts. If it comes to it, selling a couple of antiques from Wind Hall

is better than you working so hard."

As soon as he finished speaking, Cheyenne rejected his proposal. She turned off the tap, grabbed the towel

hanging on the wall, wiped her hands, and turned around. With a determined look in her eyes, she said, "No, |

can't take your hard-earned money, Benson."

"As for selling antiques, | don't want to. | just criticized Regan for it. If | suddenly go back on my word now,

wouldn't it be inconsistent?"

Benson wanted to persuade her again, but at that moment, his phone suddenly rang.

Glancing at the note on top, his expression darkened. He hurriedly placed the card on the marble countertop by

the sink.

"Alright, Cheyenne, there's no need for such formality between us. | have surgent matters to attend to now,

so be sure to eat well, okay?"

"Okay, you take care."

Before leaving, he took a step forward, gently tucking the messy strands of hair behind her ear.

Then he turned and left.

Staring at the card he left on the table, Cheyenne suddenly had an idea, and her eyes lit up.

Right! Holding a concert was a better way to make money.

The elegant western restaurant was filled with stirring piano music, and the bright crystal chandeliers reflected

dazzling, disorienting lights. Waiters in black and white tailcoats were solemnly pouring wine for the esteemed

guests.

The restaurant manager stood by obsequiously, nodding and bowing with a smile as he enthusiastically

introduced,

"Master Sam, would you care to try this medium-bodied Bordeaux wine? Aged for thirty years, it boasts a rich

and mellow flavor. Paired with fresh French caviar, light cheese, and smoked goose breast, it promises a distinct

sensory experience across different layers of taste."

“Alright.”

The handsome, fair-skinned young man, clad in a white three-piece suit with a navy polka dot tie and a matching

plush collar, exuded a gentle and refined aura, with eyes that could charm anyone. After listening to the waiter's

introduction, he elegantly extended a gloved hand and picked up the stemmed glass.

He took a sip.

After a few seconds, he smiled faintly, "Not bad. You may go now, we can handle it ourselves."

"Of course, if there's anything Master Sam needs, feel free to call for us."

The manager felt like he was sitting on pins and needles, a lump stuck in his throat.

In order to ensure that Master Sam had a perfect dining experience, he spared no expense in inviting renowned

pianists from the country and meticulously preparing these dishes.

He even memorized a long speech overnight, only to find it unnecessary in the end.

Was Master Sam dissatisfied with their service?

“Alright.”

After the manager had left, a shapely, long-legged beauty finally relaxed her frown and picked up her knife and

fork to begin her meal.

Her posture was impeccable, and her cutlery manners were flawless, clearly the habits of someone who

frequently led a high-end and luxurious lifestyle.

Listening to the piano piece played by the young man, she narrowed her eyes that seemed to spark, smiled, and

gently remarked, "He made a slight mistake. The glissando part isn't very smooth, perhaps due to nerves."

At this, Sam glanced back at the

young pianist, his lips curling jee

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Gracie, receiving the praise, coquettishly chuckled, then continued to cut into her steak with metallic cutlery.

Finally, she placed the sliced pieces onto Sam's plate and softly said, "You have low blood sugar, you should eat

more to nourish yourself."

"Okay."

"Shane is here."

Sam suddenly spoke.

At the entrance, a white figure appeared before the two, an elegant and handsyoung man striding over, his

body tall and slender.

Despite both sharing a fondness for white suits, the two exuded completely different auras.

Sam in white was noble and scholarly, reminiscent of those leisurely aristocratic young masters, exuding an air

of nobility.

On the other hand, Benson in white was as melancholic, resembling an elegant little prince, making people

unable to guard against him.

As he took his seat, his eyebrows

furrowed with an elegant and disgant

allure, his voice sorhéeiHat impatient

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His attitude was not good, but Sam was not angry. Instead, he proactively picked up a stemmed glass.

He poured half a glass of wine.

"Don't rush, have a drink to calm down before discussing business."

The crimson liquid, smooth as silk, swirled in the glass like fresh blood.

Yet the glass remained spotless,

without a trace. S~Hallith the om

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After the calm, the reflection of Benson's handsface with deep, penetrating eyes was cast onto the glass.