“No matter what, he was still your father!” Mr. Lancaster cried out, his voice filled with anguish.
Penelope scoffed. “I’m not his biological daughter.”
“He raised you!”
“My mother raised me!”
“You—you ungrateful wretch!”
Penelope feigned a wounded expression and called out to Theodore, who was standing a short distance away. “Honey, he’s insulting me!”
In a perfectly timed response, Theodore dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his heel.
“My husband’s message is clear,” Penelope announced smugly. “If you say one more word, he’ll make sure none of you can make a living in Orenth.”
Gina Lancaster couldn’t hold back any longer. “You’re just a dog throwing… I mean, you’re just throwing your weight around!”
“An excellent choice of words. I am throwing my weight around. What are you going to do about it?” Penelope shot back, her expression one of pure delight.
To protect Chasel’s job, the Lancasters had no choice but to concede. Moving a grave was a significant undertaking, but it could be done quickly when properly motivated. With grim faces, they each grabbed a shovel and, before long, had unearthed Lucien’s urn.
The moment she saw the box, memories she had forcibly buried surged to the surface.
“I’m not your father! You’re the bastard your mother had with some stranger!”
“You dare run from me? I’ll beat you to death!”
“Take off your clothes…”
Penelope fought to pull herself out of the past, her eyes turning red. She gasped for air, her body swaying as if it might collapse. In the next instant, Theodore was there, pulling her into a firm, grounding embrace.
Clutching Lucien’s urn, the Lancasters scurried away. Penelope took a few moments to compose herself, then turned to Theodore with a triumphant smile.
“Wasn’t I amazing?”
Theodore gently kissed her forehead. “Amazing,” he agreed with a soft laugh.
A thought occurred to Penelope, and she giggled. “They wanted to say I was acting like a dog backed by a powerful master, but they didn’t dare.”

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