Penelope’s face stiffened instantly. She saw the familiar car pull up, and panic surged in her chest. Her delicate eyes flared as she glared at Sydney. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You planned it!”

Sydney’s eyes shimmered with false hurt. “Penelope, what are you talking about? I was upstairs just now, preparing a gift for Cal. Why blame me?”

At that moment, the Hampton family’s butler, George Baker, entered and found chaos. His gaze swept the wrecked villa before settling on Penelope. “Ms. Penelope, Madam Hampton asked me to deliver a message. Since your parenting has clearly failed, she will have to discipline you.”

Penelope’s lips parted. “What?”

George gestured politely. “Please kneel in the courtyard. Three hours.”

“George—” Sydney began, but he stopped her with a gentle smile.

“Ms. Sydney, no need to plead on her behalf,” he said. “You’ve endured enough with the funeral. Please take care of your health.”

Sydney had wanted to ask if Dorothy had recovered enough to discuss the divorce at a better time. In the Hampton household, no matter how much power Caleb held at the company, Dorothy always controlled family matters.

Despite her reluctance, Penelope knelt in the freezing snow.

‘Serves her right,’ Sydney thought, not sparing her a second glance as she headed upstairs.

Nancy hesitated. “Ms. Wilson, what about the painting?”

“No worries. Someone will pick it up soon. It will be returned after restoration.”

Sydney kept it simple. Of course, she wouldn’t reveal that the painting hanging in the house was a fake. The real one was already at a friend’s gallery, untouched and perfectly preserved.

Benjamin Hampton’s greatest wish had been for his art to be seen by many. Hiding it at home would have been a waste.

“Evil woman!” Timothy screamed just as Sydney reached the stairs. “I called Uncle Caleb! When he gets home, you’re dead!”

“Then I’ll be waiting.”

“He’s going to divorce you! Then you’ll be a used-up old hag nobody wants!” Timothy shrieked.

Sydney chuckled. “He won’t listen to you.”

Caleb and Penelope still needed her as a smokescreen.

The moment they divorced, a man living under the same roof as his late brother’s wife? Penelope’s reputation would be ruined beyond repair. Caleb would never allow that.

…

Caleb returned quickly. Penelope had knelt less than twenty minutes before he appeared.

He stepped out of the car in a long black cashmere coat, tall and composed, radiating quiet authority. He rushed to Penelope, scooped her into his arms, and hurried her inside. He gently set her on the sofa and began applying medicine to her red, frozen knees. His concern was barely concealed in his eyes.

“You’re an idiot. If they tell you to kneel, you actually kneel?” he said.

“Grandma gave the order. What choice did I have?” Penelope clutched his sleeve, eyes red and voice trembling. “Cal, can you please divorce her? She’s terrifying.”