CHAPTER 4 – A STRONG-WILLED WOMAN

That afternoon, Chatrine truly went home with Liam.

Well, not with him exactly.

She drove her own black luxury sedan behind Liam’s pickup truck as they headed toward the village roads outside Canterbury.

The entire decision was insane.

Truthfully, Chatrine had never planned to work at the gallery in the first place. She had only brought a few changes of clothes.

No careful planning.

No long preparation.

And yet somehow, Chatrine Madison felt even more exhilarated by the challenge.

Even while driving through narrow village roads, she handled her expensive sedan with the same elegant confidence she carried through New York streets. Liam’s pickup remained ahead of her while endless stretches of rice fields, farmland, and old stone cottages unfolded beyond her windshield. The scenery looked absurdly different from the glittering skyline of Manhattan that usually framed her life.

“Chatrine Madison,” she murmured to herself with amused satisfaction, “congratulations on the beginning of your suffering.”

The cars separated once they reached the neighborhood.

Liam turned toward his own house while Chatrine drove toward the small stone cottage once owned by Evana’s grandmother, the place she would now temporarily occupy.

With impeccable style, Chatrine stepped out of the car and pulled a medium-sized suitcase from the trunk. The luggage looked far more suitable for a weekend in the Riviera than for surviving life in the countryside.

Straightening herself, she studied the tiny stone house with slightly furrowed brows.

“Not bad,” she commented while brushing her hair back elegantly. “A little outdated, but tolerable. At least the doors and windows still function.”

In Chatrine’s world, even opening a door herself was practically a rare activity. Most doors slid open automatically for her, and almost every step of her life came attached to luxury service.

She entered the house directly.

Only a few months earlier, Evana had still lived there. The interior remained relatively neat and clean, though the air felt stale from windows that had not been opened in some time.

Chatrine wandered through the small rooms casually. She refused to panic over narrow spaces or low ceilings. Instead of complaining, she placed her suitcase in the front room, removed her expensive blazer, switched on the table lamp, and confidently opened her laptop.

The screen lit up.

Immediately, the playful expression vanished from her beautiful face, replaced by sharp concentration.

“I refuse to lose to that stubborn man,” she muttered while typing rapidly across the keyboard.

That very night, Chatrine began downloading articles, reading market reports, and taking notes about art galleries and handcrafted furniture. From classical European interiors to Japanese minimalist trends, she devoured every piece of information with fierce enthusiasm.

Occasionally, she paused and smirked at the screen.

“An art furniture gallery? Please. My taste is more sophisticated than half the Louvre collection.”

A few moments later, however, she found herself staring at diagrams of classic English furniture with a slight frown.

“Okay… perhaps I should learn the difference between a Windsor chair and a Queen Anne chair.”

She immediately began writing detailed notes.

Every page was neat, precise, and painfully organized.

Meanwhile, in his own house, Liam tried to clear his thoughts.

He had already decided he would ignore Chatrine’s stubbornness and her increasingly irrational behavior.

Still, without admitting it to himself, Liam kept noticing that the lights inside Evana’s old house remained on.

He frowned.

The woman truly was not sleeping?

Or perhaps the spoiled city woman simply could not sleep inside a tiny stone cottage. Liam was convinced she would flee back to the city by sunrise.

Women like Chatrine were usually delicate and easily frightened. She was alone in an old house in the middle of a quiet village. For all he knew, she was probably trembling in panic right now.

Annoyed by his own thoughts, Liam shut the curtains roughly.

Not my problem, he muttered internally.

He was exhausted and desperately needed sleep.

Hours passed.

The black coffee Chatrine had brewed earlier had already gone cold beside her untouched. There were no velvet sofas, no soft jazz music playing in the background. Only an old wooden table and the sound of insects singing beyond the windows.

Yet Chatrine remained focused.

Meticulous.

Brilliant.

There was fire burning behind her eyes. Endless ideas. Endless strategies.

For Chatrine, this was no longer simply about working at a gallery.

It was about winning.

About conquering a man named Liam Conelli who had underestimated her far too many times.

In the middle of her research, Chatrine leaned back in her chair and smiled to herself.

“You may be stubborn, Carpenter…” she whispered softly, “…but I’m far harder than any wood you can cut with a machine saw.”

Her confidence in her own strategy remained absolute.

“Let’s see who surrenders first.”

Long past midnight, Chatrine was still sitting at the table, typing, researching, and scribbling notes with unwavering determination. Her blazer hung over the back of a chair while the clothes inside her suitcase remained completely unpacked.

The next morning, Liam woke early to clean his pickup truck and warm up the engine.

Across the road, Evana’s old house remained tightly shut. Not a single window had been opened.

Liam smirked to himself.

Of course.

Chatrine had probably run back to the city already.

The fresh countryside air filled his lungs comfortably, easing his mood. A small smile almost appeared on his face.

Then suddenly, the front door of the stone house opened.

And Chatrine stepped outside.

Even in a tiny unfamiliar village, she somehow remained entirely herself.

Stylish.

Stubborn.

Dangerous.

She looked absurdly fresh for someone who had spent the night inside an old countryside cottage. Her perfume drifted all the way across the road. She wore a crisp white blouse tucked perfectly into a black pencil skirt, elegant medium heels, and carried her folded blazer neatly over one arm. Her hair had been styled flawlessly. Not a single strand dared fall out of place.

Chatrine crossed the road carrying her laptop bag with complete confidence, looking as though she were heading toward an important Wall Street meeting rather than walking through a sleepy village lane.

Liam nearly choked on the morning air.

Chatrine stopped gracefully in front of him.

“I’m ready to work at the gallery.”

Liam stared at her from head to toe.

He wanted to question reality itself, but unfortunately the bizarre woman standing before him was undeniably real.

“You’re wearing that?” Liam asked bluntly.

Chatrine lifted her chin slightly.

“What exactly is wrong with my outfit?”

She sounded perfectly calm and authoritative, as though discussing a corporate negotiation worth millions of dollars.

Liam exhaled slowly, restraining himself from making a cruel remark.

“The problem,” he replied flatly, “is that customers will spend more time staring at you than looking at the art I’m trying to sell.”

“Oh.”

Chatrine blinked in surprise. Her eyes widened slightly before she glanced at her own reflection in the pickup truck window.

“So what exactly am I supposed to wear?”

“Maybe you’re still trapped in some fantasy world, blonde lady,” Liam mocked. “You still haven’t realized you’re stranded in a village.”

As he spoke, Liam gestured toward the neighboring houses where villagers had already begun their morning routines.

Women hanging laundry outside.

Old men sweeping their yards.

Children running barefoot through the road.

Nearly all of them had paused to stare at Chatrine as though a wax figure from Madame Tussauds had somehow wandered into their countryside.

“You see?” Liam muttered impatiently. “Nobody dresses like you around here.”

Chatrine looked around as several neighbors began whispering behind their hands.

Yet instead of embarrassment, she merely sighed softly and shrugged with effortless elegance.

“Oh, that’s not a serious problem,” she replied smoothly. “I simply haven’t brought clothes appropriate for your environment yet.”

Her tone remained perfectly professional, as though she were negotiating a multi-million-dollar contract.

At that point, Liam developed a temporary theory.

Perhaps Chatrine Madison really had hit her head against an elevator door recently.