Burn Me Once Burn With Me (Ruby Grayson) novel Chapter 447

“Hanley, just look at the kind of person you’ve brought into this house!”

Violet, clearly not satisfied with just words, clung to Hanley’s arm and made her complaint loud and clear.

Gayle’s heart sank at once. She shot a nervous glance at Hanley, dread pooling in her stomach.

Hanley, always calm and composed, didn’t look pleased either. Outwardly, he was known for his poise and gentlemanly restraint, but even he couldn’t tolerate someone he saw as beneath them hurting his son.

“Gayle, apologize to the boy. And your salary this month is cut in half,” he commanded, his voice icy and unyielding.

Gayle’s heart lurched.

Almost before she could think, she dropped to her knees. “Sir, I’ll apologize to him, but please don’t dock my pay! You know my son is still in the hospital, he needs—”

“Enough. You made a mistake, and this is your consequence,” Hanley replied, looking down at her from above, eyes cold as steel.

Under that frosty stare, Gayle slumped to the floor, every ounce of strength draining from her body.

Ulysses wriggled free from his father’s embrace and strutted over to Gayle, his face alight with smug satisfaction. “See? I told you—what does it matter if Mom and Dad find out?”

He grinned, then pressed the toe of his spotless little sneaker onto Gayle’s trembling hand.

“Mom, I don’t want to play with my toys anymore. I want to watch TV in your room,” Ulysses said, tilting his head up, eyes shining as he reached out his arms.

Violet looked at her son’s sweet face and smiled gently. “Mommy’s pregnant, darling. Let Daddy carry you.”

“Come here, champ. Daddy’s got you,” Hanley said, scooping Ulysses up in one swift motion.

The three of them left together, laughter and warmth trailing in their wake. Violet lingered a moment, pausing at the threshold. She turned her head, her eyes cold as ice as they landed on the ashen-faced Gayle. “Clean up the boy’s toys. Then get back to your storeroom.”

She sniffed disdainfully and strode out, head held high.

Gayle sat there, numb. Her neck moved stiffly, like a rusted old hinge, until her gaze fixed on the empty doorway where they’d vanished.

She earned just enough—two thousand pounds a month—and with what little she’d saved, she could barely scrape together the money for her son’s surgery at the end of the month. Hanley had promised to help, but it only covered the small, incidental hospital fees. The operation itself was another matter. Now, with half her pay gone, she was a thousand short. Where could she possibly find that kind of money?

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