Peter was speechless.
He looked at Ann and said plainly, "Never mind who's right or wrong—right now, you're the other woman."
Peter cut straight to the heart of the matter. "None of the Ferguson family elders acknowledge you or your so-called son. York still hasn't divorced Claudia for you. Haven't you gotten the hint yet?"
Peter's words hit a nerve.
Ann's voice was tight with restrained anger. "Peter, you can't predict matters of the heart. Isn't it a bit premature for you to be making such judgments?"
Peter pursed his lips. "I think you've been reading too many of those trashy billionaire romance novels in your spare time."
Ann's face flushed with humiliation. "Peter, what are you trying to say?"
He couldn't help but scoff at her. "It's always women like you who love to daydream—average looks, no family background, no education, no real skills, but a whole mountain of ambition."
"Dreaming that a billionaire will fall for a girl from a third-rate college."
"Dreaming that a billionaire will fall for the nanny."
"Dreaming that a billionaire will fall for the woman who had his child out of wedlock."
"Dreaming that a billionaire will fall for the divorced single mom."
"Dreaming that a billionaire will fall for the woman going through menopause."
"Dreaming that a billionaire will fall for the woman already collecting a pension."
...
Standing there, Ann felt like a complete clown.

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