She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 885

Thanks to the Frost Peppermint cultivation techniques her late husband had left behind, Emma had achieved complete financial freedom. She had purchased a sprawling, sunlit, fully furnished luxury penthouse in one of Metropia's most exclusive new developments.

Knowing her daughter was returning, Emma had personally decorated the space to make it feel like home.

The moment Gigi stepped through the door, she let out a loud gasp of awe. "Wow! The city lights look so pretty!"

Giselle gave her mother a tight hug. "Thank you, Mom. You've worked so hard."

"As long as you're home, that's all that matters," Emma said, tears brimming in her eyes. The two women chatted over a lavish, home-cooked dinner. After hesitating for a long time, Emma finally broached the subject of Hank.

"Does he know you're back?"

Giselle nodded. "Yeah. We were on the same flight."

Emma let out a heavy sigh. "If he tries to harass you, I don't care how embarrassing it is, I'll go straight to Loyce. As long as she steps in, he won't be able to touch you or Gigi."

"Don't bother her," Giselle said softly. "She just had her baby and needs her rest. I can handle this, Mom. Please don't worry."

Emma nodded reluctantly. "What about work? Are you going back to Bloomberry?"

"Yes, but I'll be returning as a designer," Giselle explained. "It's been a while, so I need some time to familiarize myself with the domestic operations again."

Giselle slept soundly that night. The next morning, Emma took Gigi to enroll in a new preschool. Normally, getting into an elite academy involved a grueling application process, and temporary paperwork alone took weeks to process.

But the moment Emma arrived, the admissions director fast-tracked everything, finalizing the enrollment on the spot and even arranging for Gigi to start classes that same afternoon.

This suspiciously flawless convenience didn't sit well with Emma. She didn't mince words. "Is Hank Lonsdale behind this?"

The director gave a polite, tactful smile. "Our academy boasts the finest teaching faculty in all of Metropia. For the sake of your granddaughter's future, you should definitely keep her enrolled with us."

The non-answer was a clear warning: walking away out of spite would only hurt the child's education.

After a long internal debate, Emma finalized the paperwork and told her daughter what happened.

Giselle wasn't surprised in the slightest. She told her mother not to stress over it, hung up, and walked into the Bloomberry corporate headquarters.

The senior management team was currently in a meeting, so a receptionist was assigned to welcome her.

Once the receptionist realized who she was speaking to, her demeanor became exceedingly respectful. She led Giselle to a pristine, expansive office. "Our boss gave us a heads-up. She said that if you returned, this would be your office."

"The regional managers all have their own agendas and want to push their own in-house designers," she continued. "But the resulting designs aren't hitting the mark. They've already offended a few VIP wives. That's what the screaming is about. If this auction turns into a disaster, our reputation in high society will tank, and the brand's value will plummet."

Giselle processed the information, adjusted her collar, and said, "I'll go take a look."

It had been a long time since she had walked the halls of Bloomberry. Many of the current designers were fresh faces. The old atmosphere of creative harmony was gone, replaced by a tense, rigid environment where everyone kept their heads down.

She needed to reacquaint herself with the company—and she needed to assert her authority. She pushed open the door to the conference room and walked straight in. The shouting didn't even pause at her intrusion.

She scanned the room. The regional managers and two design directors were glaring at each other, design sketches scattered wildly across the long table. The air was thick with hostility.

Sitting at the head of the table was a woman in her early thirties with a sharp bob and deep dark circles under her eyes. She was pinching the bridge of her nose, looking utterly drained.

She was the first to notice Giselle. Her exhausted eyes instantly lit up.

Giselle gave her a reassuring smile, walked to the head of the table, and grabbed the microphone. The sharp screech of feedback finally silenced the room and forced everyone to look at her.

"Who let you in here?" demanded the man sitting to the immediate left. His nameplate read *Franklin Nash – East Coast Region*. He looked to be in his early forties, his hair slicked back perfectly. He tapped his pen aggressively against the table, treating her like an errant intern. "Get out. We're in the middle of a meeting."