The old matriarch rapped her knuckles sharply on the table, her voice ringing through the dining room. “Do you know what everyone in our circles is saying? The Howards have thrown away their dignity just to cozy up to the Rayburns! Is that what you call looking out for your daughter’s best interests? Besides resorting to cheap tricks and dirty schemes, do you even know any other way to get ahead?”

She took a deep breath, her gaze icy. “You really make your selfishness sound so noble. Ilse, I have to say, you never cease to surprise me.”

With that, the old woman slowly rose to her feet, her composure unshakeable. “You all enjoy your dinner.”

Linette immediately stepped forward to help her out of the room.

Miranda, appetite gone, followed soon after.

In a blink, only Ilse and her daughter Genevieve remained at the table.

Genevieve’s bravado finally cracked. She turned to her mother, voice trembling. “Mom, do you think Grandma’s really mad at us?”

Ilse’s hand clenched beneath the table, her expression darkening. “So what if she is? She’s old. She’ll be gone sooner or later. I can avoid her for now, but not forever. One day, I’ll have to deal with her–no matter

what.”

The dinner ended in icy silence, the tension thick in the air.

Meanwhile, across town, Charlotte was having the time of her life at a bustling street food stall, happily devouring skewers hot off the grill.

Ever since she married Evander, she’d sworn off street food–after all, “Mrs. Howard” had an image to uphold.

As she glanced around,

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Chapter 34

blinked, surprised. “Isn’t that Mrs.

left the office, exhaustion written on his handsome features. But at the mention of Charlotte, a flicker of emotion crossed his

she was–Charlotte, unmistakable even in a crowd. She

spoke, voice

reached for the door handle, two college–aged, boys approached Charlotte.

didn’t turn them

it made her

ages. The realization

the door and strode toward the food stall,

pulled the chair away. The boy spun around, startled,

her head, barely suppressing a

an eyebrow, “Who are you calling ‘sir‘? Didn’t anyone teach you to keep your hands

to Charlotte, flustered. “Sorry,

a retort.

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