Chapter 300
Gwyneth reluctantly sat beside McNeil as the car pulled away from the curb. The moment they were in motion, McNeil’s knee-whether by accident or design- brushed against Victoria’s.
Without drawing attention, Victoria edged herself away. It didn’t matter; within minutes, McNeil had shifted back, closing the gap.
Irritation simmered in her chest. McNeil sat upright, acting as if nothing had happened, occasionally making small talk with Gwyneth, but ignoring Victoria completely.
For Gwyneth, this was a rare visit with her mother. She’d hoped to wedge herself between Victoria and McNeil, maybe snuggle up to her mom and chat along the ride. Instead, McNeil had plucked her away like a kitten and set her on the opposite side. All the way to the old manor, Gwyneth kept craning her neck, trying to catch Victoria’s eye, while Victoria stared straight ahead, ignoring her daughter’s silent pleas.
After several failed attempts, Gwyneth voiced her protest, but McNeil pretended not to hear.
When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Langford Mansion, Gwyneth hopped out, visibly frustrated.
Victoria followed, and Gwyneth immediately ran over, grabbing her hand and refusing to let go.
“Mommy…”
She was her mother-so why should Daddy get to keep her all to himself?
Victoria squeezed Gwyneth’s small fingers, and Gwyneth looked up. “Mommy, that race car model you had is that for Mr. Clark? Not for Max, right?”
Max had become a thorn in Gwyneth’s side, as if he might swoop in and steal Victoria away at any moment.
Victoria didn’t quite follow her daughter’s line of questioning. “What do you mean?”
McNeil was close by, feigning indifference while listening intently to every word between mother and daughter.
Before Gwyneth could press further, one of the housekeepers came out to greet them. It had been months since both the young master and his wife had returned together, so the staff hurried inside to alert the old man of the house.
“Sir, the young master, his wife, and Miss Gwyneth have arrived…”
The patriarch appeared in the hallway, his face stern as always, though his eyes softened at the sight of Victoria-relief and comfort flickering beneath the surface.
“So, you two still remember me when I don’t send someone to drag you home? Planning to wait until I’m dead to pay your respects?”
Victoria said nothing at first. When the old man looked pointedly at her, she finally offered a quiet, “Grandpa…”
He snorted, staring at her for a long moment before sighing. “Well, you’re back. Married couples fight and make up-it’s part of life. Don’t take everything so seriously.”
Victoria remained silent. Their situation was far beyond a simple lovers’ quarrel. When dinner was served, Gwyneth clung to Victoria like a barnacle, determined not to let her father snag the seat next to her mother. She clambered up onto Victoria’s lap and refused to budge.
“Mommy, I want some crab too. Can you help me crack the shell?”
Once the crab was gone, Gwyneth demanded other dishes-if it was too hot, she made Victoria blow on it; if it was cold, she insisted it be sent back to the kitchen to warm up.
Throughout the meal, Victoria barely touched her own plate, busy tending to Gwyneth’s every whim.
The old man chatted with his grandson as they ate; Victoria paid no attention to their conversation.
Madonna sat at the far end of the table, keeping her distance from mother and daughter. Gwyneth had never warmed to her grandmother, but she was affectionate with the old man, answering every question with earnest seriousness. When they arrived, she’d greeted him with a chirpy “Great-Grandpa!”—which delighted him to no end.
Victoria, however, was no longer the spirited conversationalist she once was. She’d grown withdrawn, indifferent to anything concerning the Langford family.
After dinner, the old man summoned the young couple to his study.
“So, what are your plans? You can’t expect Gwyneth to be an only child forever.”
This was the old man’s usual routine: every time they came for dinner, he’d press them for a second child.
Victoria used to find it endearing-it meant he genuinely wanted her to be part of the Langford legacy. Now, it felt hollow.
All he cared about was the family line. Who bore the children hardly mattered to him.
McNeil glanced at Victoria, knowing she had no interest in another child.
“We’ll talk about it. Maybe in a couple of years.”
“A couple of years? Gwyneth’s already five! Now’s the perfect time. I’m not getting any younger, you know. By the time you two finally make up your minds, I’ll be bones in the ground. I won’t live to see another grandchild.”
His tone was half-joking, but the pressure was real.
McNeil turned to Victoria. “It’s not just my decision. I’d like another child, honestly.”
His gaze was intense, but Victoria felt as if he was looking right through her-at someone she no longer was.
“Grandpa, I’ve started working at a new company. Things are busy right now, so I don’t have plans for another child at the moment.”
The old man understood they were having problems, though he had no idea it had reached the point of living apart for months. Victoria’s talk of “work” was already a diplomatic understatement. He’d been deeply unsettled by her insistence on ending the marriage, and had worried day and night ever since.
Now, seeing them both here, he was determined to fix things. In his mind, having another child would surely solve everything—a woman with a baby wouldn’t have time for wayward thoughts.
He hadn’t yet grasped how deep the rift between them ran. When Victoria mentioned her new job, he stared at her in disbelief.
“A job?”