Chapter 216
[ 500 words ]
Chapter 216:
“Mr. Finch, I apologize,” Cornelia said smoothly. “My daughter is suffering from a severe hypoglycemic episode due to her confinement. She lost her balance and accidentally knocked the box off the counter. It was entirely a clumsy mistake.”
Finch stared at Cornelia. He knew it was a lie. Cornelia knew he knew it was a lie. But Cornelia was giving him a medically plausible excuse that would prevent a massive scandal at this hour of the night.
Cornelia didn’t wait for Finch to argue. She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a crisp, folded stack of hundred-dollar bills. She walked over to Agnes, the trembling maid, and shoved three bills directly into her apron pocket.
“Agnes, please clean up this unfortunate mess,” Cornelia ordered, her voice leaving no room for debate.
Finch watched the exchange of cash and gave a microscopic, tight nod. He turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen.
The second the swinging doors closed behind Finch, the fake maternal concern vanished from Cornelia’s face, replaced by a look of pure, homicidal fury.
Cornelia grabbed Harper’s upper arm, her manicured nails digging so deeply into the girl’s flesh that Harper gasped in pain.
𝘙е𝗮𝗱 f𝘳e𝖾 n𝗼𝘃е𝗅s 𝗈𝘯 𝗴𝘢𝘭nov𝘦𝗹𝘴.𝗰𝗼𝘮
“Walk,” Cornelia hissed.
Cornelia dragged her daughter out of the kitchen and hauled her up the back servant stairs. They reached Harper’s luxurious bedroom suite. Cornelia shoved Harper inside, slammed the heavy door shut, and threw the deadbolt lock.
Harper stumbled, catching herself on the edge of her massive bed. She spun around, tears of humiliation welling in her eyes.
“Mom, that bitch is downstairs!” Harper cried, rubbing her bruised arm. “She is sitting with Grandpa! I can’t take this!”
Cornelia closed the distance between them in two strides and slapped Harper across the face.
The crack of the slap was deafening in the quiet bedroom. Harper’s head snapped to the side. She collapsed onto the carpet, holding her burning cheek.
“You stupid, impulsive pig,” Cornelia spat, her voice vibrating with rage. “Do you think smashing a box of sugar hurts her? You almost got yourself permanently exiled over a tantrum!”
Cornelia walked over to the crystal decanter on the dresser. Her hands were shaking with anger. She poured two fingers of amber whiskey into a glass and swallowed it in one violent gulp. The alcohol burned down her throat, steadying her nerves.
She turned back to Harper, who was sobbing quietly on the floor.
“Listen to me,” Cornelia commanded, her voice dropping to a lethal, chilling register. “The General is meeting with her alone. That means he is evaluating her. If she passes his test, he will formally recognize the marriage.”
Harper looked up, her eyes wide with horror.
“If she becomes the recognized Romero wife,” Cornelia continued, pacing the floor, “and if she gets pregnant… Jarrod’s bloodline is secured. Your inheritance — the money you need to survive — will be completely wiped out. You will be nothing.”
The word nothing hit Harper like a physical blow. The tears stopped. The humiliation vanished, instantly replaced by a dark, toxic panic.
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