"Sigh," Beatrice Hargrave let out a sigh, turned over, leaned against the bed, and casually pulled the covers to her chest, assuming the same position as Nicholas Croft, "Looking at the current situation, even if everything goes normally, there might not be anyone coming to watch."
Nowadays, she is being cursed everywhere, called a "white lotus" and a "scheming bitch", even going after her future brother-in-law. She probably won't even get the chance to be pelted with eggs.
"Then just cancel the upcoming shows." There's already a fuss about refunds, and the next stop on the tour probably won't even have a third of the audience.
Nicholas Croft stretched out his arms, and Beatrice Hargrave cooperated by leaning forward, letting his arms wrap around her neck and rest on her shoulders, "If we cancel, won't your investment be for naught?"
"Throwing away tens of millions for a beauty's joy, it's worth it."
