The Sleeper's Wrath and His Wife's Strike novel Chapter 42

Thinking of this, she couldn’t help but lift her chin, a trace of haughtiness gleaming in her eyes.

Everyone else was just as curious about what exactly Lindsay was up to, and the group chat quickly lit up with replies.

Bertha, always the tactful one, sent Lindsay a private message: *Lindsay, are you expecting an important guest tonight? Is there anything you need me to prepare?*

Bertha knew her position as the lady of the Quigley household owed much to Lindsay putting in a good word with Mr. Quigley Sr..

Smart people never had to spell things out. It was enough to show the right attitude at the right time.

Lindsay replied: *Just handle things as you see fit, Bertha. My friend isn’t picky.*

Bertha responded, *Of course, but I’ll make sure everything’s perfect. We can’t neglect your distinguished guest.*

Lindsay: *Thank you, Bertha.*

Bertha: *You’re too polite, Lindsay. If you need anything, just say the word. We’re family, after all—no need to stand on ceremony.*

Lindsay’s reply was brief: *Alright.*

She understood Bertha well enough. Bertha’s warmth was nothing more than recognition that Lindsay could still be useful, especially since she knew her position as the Quigley matriarch was thanks to Lindsay’s advocacy with Mr. Quigley.

But no one knew that Lindsay had her own reasons for supporting Bertha as the lady of the house.

Night fell.

By now, everyone who was supposed to be home had clocked out of work. Althea was the first to arrive at the Quigley estate.

She hadn’t been back in days and, truth be told, she’d missed the place.

He looked perplexed, brows knitting in a frown. “What’s the occasion? Lindsay’s guest isn’t here yet. Don’t you know any manners?”

Althea hesitated. Who else could they be waiting for? Wasn’t this whole dinner to welcome her home?

Helen covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, then deliberately raised her voice. “Some people actually think tonight’s dinner is for them. Hilarious.”

The words barely left her mouth before laughter rippled around the table—except for Althea and her son, whose faces had turned to stone.

“Tonight, I did invite a special guest,” Lindsay announced, her gaze fixed on the elevator doors. “And you all know this guest very well.”

All eyes swung toward the elevator, curiosity mounting. With a soft chime, the doors slid open.

Yves sat in his wheelchair, his handsome face expressionless, eyes cold and sharp. Gone was the gentle warmth he showed Lindsay; in its place was a forbidding, almost chilling air as he rolled himself steadily toward the dining room.