Calista asked, “Divorce? You want me out of the way so Ophelia can take my place?”
Calista had no intention of staying quiet after taking that slap for no reason. She snapped back
without hesitation.
Astrid’s brow furrowed, her glare sharp and full of warning. “You really are starting to-”
But the rest of her sentence died in her throat. She pressed her hand to her temple as if suddenly
exhausted.
She didn’t understand it herself. Calista was her biological daughter, yet every time she looked at her, a deep, unshakable rejection stirred inside her chest.
Still, when she met Calista’s wounded, unwavering gaze, Astrid’s heart softened despite itself.
Astrid figured it had to be due to Calista’s adoptive mother’s failure to raise her properly.
If Calista had been raised by Astrid from the beginning, there was no way she would be this
reckless and defiant now.
With a sigh, Astrid muttered, “I know I’ve lost control of you. It’s my fault. I didn’t raise you
properly.”
Calista stared at her coldly, saying nothing.
“Why are you acting this way, Calista?” Ophelia asked.
While Astrid fell silent, Ophelia couldn’t just let it go. She needed a reason, a justification. After all, the scene from earlier had nearly escalated into something unforgivable, and she wasn’t about
to let it slide.
“I have no idea what you’re all talking about,” Calista said, her voice low but steady. Her eyes stayed locked on theirs, searching, bracing herself for whatever accusation might come next.
It was like they thought her surviving that car crash had been some kind of sin.
She knew no one in this room liked her, but that didn’t mean she would keep letting herself be scapegoated.
“Did you send Mr. Vaughn?” Lucien finally spoke. His voice was low, but the question rang out.
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