Chapter 151
Chapter 151:
“I was invited,” she said, her voice cool. She walked past his outstretched hand as if it were a branch blocking her path. “Beatrice said the papers were ready. Let’s get this over with p>
“Skye, wait,” Liam pleaded, scrambling to catch up. “We need to talk. The divorce papers… I haven’t signed them. I won’t sign them p>
Skye stopped on the bottom step of the grand staircase. She turned to look down at him. The height difference gave her the advantage.
“Then you will die married to a ghost, Liam,” she said. “Because the wife you want? She’s gone p>
The front door opened. The butler, old and stiff, bowed his head.
“Madam Beatrice is waiting in the dining room,” the butler intoned, “and… the guest p>
“Guest?” Liam frowned, looking at Skye. “I thought it was just us p>
Skye’s lips curled into a smirk. She knew Beatrice. There was always a play.
“Shall we go meet your replacement, Liam?” Skye asked.
She turned and walked into the house, her red dress trailing behind her like a pool of blood on the marble floor.
The dining room of Kensington Manor was a mausoleum of old wealth. The walls were paneled in dark mahogany, absorbing the light from the crystal chandelier. The air smelled of roast beef and judgment.
Beatrice sat at the head of the long table, looking like a vulture perched on a throne. To her right sat a young woman Skye had never seen before. She was the antithesis of Skye—soft, rounded edges, wearing a pale pink dress with a lace collar. Her hair was a mousy brown, pulled back in a modest chignon. She looked at Liam with wide, doe-like eyes as they entered.
“Liam,” Beatrice said, her voice commanding. “Sit. Skye, take the seat opposite Miss Winthrop p>
Skye pulled out her own chair. The screech of the wood against the floor was deliberately loud. She sat down, crossing her legs and draping her arm over the back of the chair, taking up space.
“Lydia,” Beatrice introduced, gesturing to the girl in pink. “Lydia Winthrop. From the Boston Winthrops. Her family has been in shipping since the Revolution p>
𝖱e𝘢d 𝘄i𝘁𝘩𝗼𝘂𝘵 intе𝘳𝘳up𝘁𝗂oո𝗌 𝘰𝗻 𝖻e𝗹ո𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗹𝘴.𝖼om
“Charmed,” Skye said, picking up the wine glass. She swirled the red liquid, staring at Lydia. “Shipping. How fascinating. Do you move cargo, or just social capital p>
Lydia blinked. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before returning, sweet and sugary.
“We focus on logistics,” Lydia said softly. “But Grandmother Beatrice tells me you’re quite the businesswoman yourself now, Skye. Buying up… industrial wastelands p>
Grandmother Beatrice. Skye caught the possessive title. Lydia had been here for an hour and was already calling the matriarch “Grandmother p>
“It’s called investment, Lydia,” Skye said. “But I wouldn’t expect someone who wears a season-old Prada knockoff to understand asset appreciation p>
The table went silent. Lydia’s hand flew to her collar. Her face flushed a deep, ugly red.
“It’s vintage,” Lydia stammered.
“It’s polyester,” Skye corrected, taking a sip of wine. “The stitching on the hem is uneven. But don’t worry—Beatrice’s eyesight is failing; she probably can’t tell you’re a fraud yet p>