My eyes scanned the room–and froze. Where my mother’s portrait once hung, Grace’s now
stared back.
Mr. Thompson said obsequiously, “It was Master Whitmore’s special instruction–he said Miss Clarissa would be happy to see it.”
Guests whispered among themselves.
“Did you hear? The gold shops Mrs. Whitmore left behind were all transferred to Mrs. Simmons.”
“The original wife worked hard all her life, only for the mistress to benefit in the end.”
“Shh! Quiet. She’s the legitimate wife now.”
Grace leaned delicately against my father’s shoulder, dabbing her eyes as she turned to me.
“I know you don’t like me, Claire. But today is a joyful day, and I only have a small wish:
Let me take care of Edward for the rest of his life, and look after this home… for your mother’s
sake.”
She never once mentioned today was also my mother’s death anniversary.
Seeing my bloodshot eyes, my father casually smoothed things over.
“Grace is your stepmother now. She went to the trouble of hosting your birthday—at least try to
be polite.”
Before he finished, Clarissa entered arm–in–arm with Lucas.
“Happy birthday, my princess.”
Lucas’s voice was full of tender affection as he handed me a gift box.
“Oh my god! That’s the exclusive packaging from Halston Auctioneers for ‘True Love’s Heart‘!” a
guest exclaimed.
“A mystery buyer paid a fortune for it last month–turns out it was Mr. Reed!”
“Such a romantic prince! Claire is so lucky!”
But I didn’t care.
Not about the priceless collectible.
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Not about the so–called prince and his tender gestures.
None of it mattered.
What mattered was the maternity gown Clarissa wore.
The one my mother had sewn for me–stitch by painful stitch–when she could barely breathe.
“Take it off.”
My voice trembled, eyes locked onto her.
Clarissa’s eyes instantly welled up with tears as she shrank behind Lucas.
Guests gasped–stunned that I would cause such a scene in front of Lucas.
Lucas spoke gently but firmly:
“Cece, don’t make a scene. You like this style? I’ll bring the designer home tomorrow.”
But I couldn’t hear anything.
Rage drowned out thought. I lunged at Clarissa, eyes locked, fists trembling.
Lucas grabbed my shoulders.
“Claire! Calm down! You’re pregnant!”
“Ah!”
Clarissa suddenly fell to her knees, clawing at her gown’s neckline.
“I know you look down on my mother and me! You’ve always bullied me!”
She had done this back in school too–hurting herself and then claiming I’d hit her.
Ever since then, everyone believed Claire was arrogant and cruel.
That I liked bullying others.
The guests whispered again, their eyes full of disdain.
“The original wife’s daughter is really domineering…”
“She’s your half–sister, no need to be so harsh.”
Lucas took off his jacket and wrapped it around Clarissa’s shoulders.
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For the first time, his expression turned cold.
“Claire, apologize.”
But I didn’t react.
Staring at my mother’s last keepsake torn to shreds, my vision blurred.
Lucas looked shocked and reached for me. “Cece…”
But before he could touch me, Clarissa pretended to help–then suddenly shoved me hard.
My lower back slammed into a metal railing, pain shooting through my body.
Meanwhile, Clarissa fell into the cake, cream streaking her face in a pitiful mess.
“Why did you push me, Claire!?”
“Clarissa!”
Chapter 4
Sara is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.

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