You Looked Down on Me Once Now You Look Up (Patricia and Oliver) novel Chapter 242

Impossible? Not for them. No matter how far she ran, even if she vanished off the face of the earth, they’d always find her.

Grandma stood stock-still by the gate. “If you want in, open the door yourself.”

“Come on, Grandma. Open it for me,” Patricia called, voice half teasing.

“As if. I’m not your doorman,” Grandma shot back. “You want something, do it yourself.”

Patricia shrugged, acting unbothered. “Suit yourself. It’s not like I’m dying to come in anyway. Hanging out with a cranky old lady isn’t my idea of a good time.” She turned as if to leave.

Grandma heard the hidden barb in her words. She gripped her cane tighter and with a few determined steps, caught up and yanked the gate open. “Patricia.”

Patricia spun around, a sly smile on her lips. “Now that’s more like it! Grandma, you’re not getting any younger. Why make life harder for yourself?”

“Why make me stand here and watch you pretend you’re too good for everyone?” Grandma grumbled.

That was just how Grandma was—old-school to the core. All those things modern people bragged about—boundaries, personal space—she called it fake, just empty politeness.

She’d been lecturing Patricia and her mom for years about it. Accused them of being cold, distant, all fake smiles and empty words. But Tina and Ruby, the ones who buttered her up and chased after her money—those were the only ones Grandma called genuine.

Inside, Patricia wandered through the living room like she owned the place. In the middle of the room, a family portrait caught her eye. She paused, narrowing her eyes.

She remembered that photo perfectly. It was taken back when her parents were still alive. That year’s New Year, in the family’s big villa. All seven of them, together and smiling.

Staring at it, Patricia felt a wave of nostalgia hit her, like she’d slipped straight back to that day ten years ago.

“Don’t mess with my things,” Grandma barked.

“Since when is any of this yours?” Patricia shot back.

She stared at her grandmother standing by the couch, her face hardening. If it weren’t for her parents, did Grandma really think she’d be living in a fancy Blue Ridge mansion on her little retirement check? With a private caretaker and every comfort imaginable? Dream on.

The tension between them was thick. For a moment, neither moved—until the sound of the front door broke the silence.

Her voice was light and casual. “You love telling that story, don’t you, Grandma? How your eldest son died young and the younger one bravely took over the family business?”

She set the photo down, turning it between her fingers. “Don’t you ever get tired of lying?”

“Or should I go out and tell them the real story?”

“Eldest son died. Grandma and her younger son ganged up to steal the granddaughter’s inheritance—even paid to make it happen.”

Rip—the photo tore clean in Patricia’s hands.

Grandma’s face went pale. She started forward, but stopped short as Patricia picked up a lighter from the incense stand and flicked it, setting the edge of the photo on fire.

The flames devoured the old picture, curling and hungry. Just before it burned out completely, Patricia dropped the ashes into the incense burner.

“Go on, check in with the saints early,” she murmured. “The rest of you will be joining them soon enough.”