The Billionaire Ex-Wife and the Beggar He Became novel Chapter 107

Frank was so infuriated by Winona's stubbornness that his face flushed red. "You're being completely unreasonable! I can't win this argument with words, and this isn't the place, but we need to talk—a proper conversation. No more putting it off. We talk now!"

Winona didn't even look at him. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Mr. Frank." Felicity shook her head gently at Frank. "Don't get so worked up. You'll make yourself sick."

She completely ignored Winona as she said this, then turned with an elegant nod to Yves Prescott. "Good afternoon, Mr. Prescott."

Yves returned the gesture, all refined politeness. "Miss Shepherd, as elegant and confident as ever."

"Thank you."

Felicity glanced back at Frank. "Mr. Frank, let's go. We can come back for the jewelry another day."

Frank took a step, blocking Winona's way. "Shepherd," he said to Felicity, "you and your parents can keep browsing. I need some time with Miss Perkins alone. Prescott, you're okay with this, right?"

The way he called Felicity "Shepherd" made Winona pause. It reminded her of Ms. Irene Chase, who had passed away in Italy. Irene used to call her "Shepherd," too, so warmly.

But people who truly cared for her never seemed to stay long. Irene was gone now. Winona thought bitterly that she'd always had bad luck.

Yves Prescott offered a polite smile, clearly amused by the drama. "Of course not! I'd be delighted to help Miss Shepherd and her parents pick out something beautiful."

It was obvious Yves was here for the show and nothing else.

She knew better than to argue with people like Frank—those in power always had the "truth" on their side. Trying to defend herself would only make her appear weak, and she'd learned long ago that silence was her best shield.

Frank stood rooted to the spot, taken aback. This was nothing like what Felicity Julian had told him—he'd been warned Winona was unreasonable, manipulative, impossible to shake off. Based on that, he'd come expecting to buy her silence, ready to offer her a hefty sum—a million, even ten million, if only she would stay away from Julian and not ruin "Shepherd's" happiness.

But Winona wasn't playing the part he'd imagined. She was distant, cold. She didn't even bother to explain herself.

For a moment, she reminded him of what his late wife had always called "Shepherd," not the person he saw now, but the girl she'd described on her deathbed—her hand clinging to his as she repeated, "Darling, promise me you'll treat Shepherd as our own daughter. When I went back to my homeland to look for family, I almost lost my life because of my relatives' schemes. If it weren't for Shepherd, I'd have died ten years ago—and we would never have had these last years together."

He'd sworn to his wife, "Don't worry, my love. We never had children—Shepherd is our daughter now. I'll carry out your wishes, and everything we own will go to her."

"She's been through so much, and she's always been quiet and withdrawn. She saved my life, but because I was cold to her, she never reached out to me again. Even now, she's in Italy and wouldn't come to our home, even though I invited her. Please, just be patient with her. Don't let her distance or silence scare you off."