Addison narrowed her eyes as she closely studied the report sent by Ryan. The document clearly outlined Lance's dismissal by the director of Yarrow Hospital. On paper, Yarrow International Hospital maintained a partnership with Lance. His company, Johnston Enterprise, was in charge of providing supplies, while Yarrow handled the distribution of drugs manufactured by the Johnston Enterprise. Considering how tightly connected the two parties were, it seemed illogical for Yarrow to expel Lance. Such an action would only end up damaging their mutual interests. This situation was undoubtedly suspicious. With that thought, Addison swiftly focused on the details, got to her feet, and headed to the wardrobe upstairs to change into new clothes. The upstairs wardrobe was large, but its limited selection of clothing made the spacious area feel cold and lifeless. At the Johnston Residence, Addison also had a dressing room of similar size. However, unlike this one, that room was packed with clothing. The wardrobe was filled with an assortment of clothing—ranging from luxurious gowns to casual wear to graceful ensembles, each piece showcasing unique styles. Each piece was priceless, and together, they packed the entire space to the brim. Wives from prominent families often expressed their jealousy, believing Lance spoiled his wife excessively. The total value of the clothing in this room could easily rival the worth of a mid-sized company. In the elite circles, few husbands lavished such extravagant amounts on their wives. Lance was practically in a league of his own. A perfect example of spoiling one's wife. But Addison was fully aware that these compliments were merely surface-level. The so-called dignified ladies from affluent families placed immense importance on lineage and pedigree. They could never truly regard her, a mere "orphan," with admiration. Added to this was her limited education, which made it even less likely for these wealthy women to genuinely envy her. From time to time, Addison overheard their private remarks about her. "Why would Mr. Johnston spend such an outrageous amount on clothing for a mere stand-in?" "And it's not just a few pieces. He bought dozens of them! All of them are globally limited editions, impossible for us to get our hands on, yet Mr. Johnston purchased them all as if it was nothing!" one woman exclaimed, her tone sharp with frustration. "Do you honestly believe those clothes were meant for that pitiful girl?" The group's leader scoffed. "Well, who else could they be for?" "Her? Worthy of such extravagance? Those exquisite clothes are wasted on someone like her!" "That may be true. But no matter how poor Addison is, the fact remains that these clothes were indeed bought for her," another woman chimed in, sounding perplexed. Addison stood silently in the shadows, her expression calm and unreadable as she listened to their conversation. "You're all far too naive," one of them said, steering the discussion in a new direction. "Those clothes weren't bought for Addison. They were for his first love, the woman he truly adores." "Mr. Johnston has always cherished his first love. Forget clothes. If she wanted the stars in the sky, he'd find a way to bring them to her. Everything he does for this substitute now is just his way of filling the emptiness in his heart." "A girl like her thinking she could ever compare to the real one? How laughable!" another sneered. The woman who had been fuming moments ago suddenly seemed much more satisfied. "I'd love to see Addison's face when she finally realizes she's nothing more than a replacement! That would be priceless!" "But, alas, Mr. Johnston wouldn't allow it ... " someone else added with a hint of regret. ... Maybe it was because of those harsh words, or maybe it wasn't. The reason didn't matter anymore. What did matter was that when Addison left Johnston Residence, she didn't take a single item from that opulent wardrobe. The biting, mocking voices faded into the background, and Addison shook herself from her thoughts. Walking past a selection of sleek, minimalist outfits, she made her way to a row of intricate evening gowns hanging at the back. During her time at Johnston Residence, she was expected to attend countless formal events, always portraying the image of the perfect Mrs. Johnston. Lavish, elegant gowns in a variety of styles had been her daily attire back then. After leaving that life behind, she hadn't worn such gowns again. Yet, perhaps out of a habit formed over three years, she had somehow ended up buying a few extravagant evening dresses while shopping. Her fingers paused on a small pearl-white gown, and she pulled it from the rack. The dress stopped midway down her thighs, featuring a plunging neckline and an off-shoulder style that highlighted her jade-like complexion. Once she changed into the gown, she stood before the mirror. How long had it been since she left the Johnston Residence? Wearing the evening gown she hadn't touched in ages, she momentarily felt like a stranger staring back at her. Her lashes quivered softly as she gazed at her reflection in a trance. After a few seconds, she shook her head slightly, a faint trace of mockery crossing her face. ... When she was done preparing, she hurried downstairs. Dressing this way today wasn't a coincidence. It was deliberate. Yarrow was the largest collaborator with the Johnstons and also had connections with several banks under Lance's control. Compared to the Johnston Residence, Yarrow clearly held greater influence over these banks. If she could win Yarrow's support and stabilize the Fullers' financial chain, everything would fall into place. However, she couldn't appear as Dr. Nancy. Her true identity had to remain hidden. Her plan was to visit Yarrow International Hospital under the guise of Mrs. Johnston to gather information. To convincingly portray Mrs. Johnston, she had no choice but to wear extravagant outfits she hadn't used in years. She opened the door, finding Gordon still standing frozen, like a statue. She descended the steps and headed directly toward the car. "Come with me. We're going to meet the director of Yarrow International Hospital," she said. Without showing any emotion, Gordon listened to her command and, without a word, moved toward the car. His movements were smooth and immediate, showing no sign of hesitation. His tall frame and long legs made his strides longer, allowing him to quickly overtake Addison, positioning himself in front of her. Gordon reached the car and opened the door for her. After she settled inside, he took the driver's seat and started the engine. In no time, the car pulled up in front of a pristine white building.Addison stepped out of the car, and a staff member quickly approached her, greeting her warmly. "Good day, Miss. How may I assist you?" "I'm here to see the director of Yarrow," she replied with a polite smile and a soft tone. Her delicate pearl-white dress added to her elegance, giving off the air of a refined young lady from a distinguished family. The staff member's expression shifted immediately, and they spoke with greater respect, "May I ask your name? I will notify him right away." She responded, "My surname is Daves. Please inform the director that I am Mrs. Johnston, and I have an important matter to discuss with him." "Understood," the staff bowed and stepped aside. Addison waited patiently, standing still as a man in a well-fitted black suit approached her quickly. It was Gordon, who had just parked the car. He hurried over, holding an umbrella. He moved swiftly to her side and opened it, shielding her from the intense sunlight. As the sunlight was blocked, she glanced up to see the dark umbrella above her. Looking at Gordon, she quietly said, "Thank you." Gordon didn't respond. He thought it was simply part of his job as a bodyguard to do all of this. Addison stood by the door for what felt like a long time. Despite the umbrella, the heat was unbearable. She frowned, starting to feel that something was off. Why hadn't the woman staff returned yet? Didn't she say she was going to notify him? Was it really taking this long to pass on a message? Addison's brow furrowed in frustration. Unable to wait any longer, she decided to approach the door. She reached for the handle to open it, but before she could even push it all the way open, two sturdy bodyguards blocked her path. "You're not allowed to enter without permission," one of the guards said harshly, his voice laced with annoyance. Addison reluctantly pulled her hand back.