The Billionaire's True Heiress From Fake Jewel to Real Crown novel Chapter 835

"Oakley is used to the raw potency of my handmade batch," Claire noted. "He's definitely going to notice a dip in quality with this mass-produced assembly-line stuff."

"But it's not like I have the hours in a day to keep hand-mixing it for him. The commercial version will do the job just fine."

"It'll absolutely work, it just requires a little more patience."

"He's not going to complain."

And honestly, Oakley didn't mind in the slightest.

In fact, the original ointment had healed him so impossibly fast that he half-suspected it was loaded with illegal steroids.

A cream with a slightly slower, visibly progressive healing curve actually felt vastly more legitimate and trustworthy to the average consumer.

"My thoughts exactly," Owen said, fully backing Claire's business logic.

"Whatever else you want to know about the company's ops, just say the word. I'll walk you through everything."

Since Claire was a major equity partner purely through her formula, Owen desperately wanted her to be hyper-critical of the process.

If she spotted a flaw, they needed to nuke it immediately.

Though, obviously, zero flaws would be ideal.

Claire laughed and shook her head. "I'm good, Owen. You're lightyears ahead of me in this arena. I've literally never run a business in my life."

"All I know is that quality control is king. As long as our scar cream genuinely delivers on its promises, we'll never have to beg for customers."

With an A-list megastar like Oakley spearheading the marketing campaign, and the staggering weight of the Churchill family backing the venture, how could this start-up possibly fail?

Even if Owen actively refused to leverage his family's name, the elite circles all knew he was the youngest heir to the Churchill empire.

The moment he launched a business, billionaires and investors would literally trip over themselves to fund it, just to curry favor with his family.

It was an undeniable truth: some people weren't just born on third base; they owned the entire stadium. His starting line was everyone else's finish line.

"Don't even sweat it. That's guaranteed," Owen said confidently. "The Churchill family built our entire legacy on absolute integrity."

"Grandpa always says..."

Claire hadn't grown up by the old man's side, so she had missed out on his legendary lectures. But Owen and his brothers had essentially been brainwashed by their grandfather's cutthroat yet principled business doctrines since they were in diapers.

With generations of accumulated wealth and brutal market dominance, the Churchill family possessed a terrifying mastery of the corporate world.

Being a doctor just meant she knew exactly what detox supplements to take the morning after.

Foundry Row wasn't just a spice gauntlet; it was a sprawling maze where you could find authentic comfort food from every corner of the globe.

It was the pulsing culinary heartbeat of Cabinda, essentially serving as the metropolis's ultimate midnight diner.

The second Claire inhaled the chaotic, mouth-watering aroma of sizzling garlic and chili, her stomach let out a ferocious growl.

Since parking a luxury car here was practically a death sentence, Owen had opted to bring Claire on his heavy-duty motorcycle.

Weaving through the gridlocked traffic on the bike meant they arrived in record time.

He was such a notorious regular that half the street vendors already knew him by face.

Navigating the neon-lit chaos with practiced ease, Owen led her into a packed, aggressively loud seafood joint known for its lethal spice levels.

He immediately ordered a massive platter of premium crawfish, which the restaurant audaciously charged by the piece.

Without blinking, Owen dropped an order for fifty massive crawfish—thirty drenched in blistering Cajun spice, and twenty swimming in rich garlic butter.

To top it off, he threw in a steaming platter of Spicy Snow Crab and an elegant spread of Steamed King Crab legs.