Thorns Grow After Betrayal (Celeste and Chester) novel Chapter 142

Serena looped her arm through Dahlia's and pulled her swiftly toward the exit.

Dahlia was at a loss, unable to figure out what had gotten into her youngest daughter, who usually stuck to her like glue.

"Serena, tell me—what's going on? That little witch Celestine has made life hell for me with your grandfather lately! He chewed me out because of her. How am I supposed to just let that slide?"

Serena didn't dare tell her mother the truth.

She was afraid Dahlia would call her an idiot.

So she scrambled for another excuse. "Mom, what's the fun in taking revenge so quickly? You don't want to let her off easy just because she knelt and begged, do you? We need to wait for the right moment—teach her such a lesson she never forgets! Otherwise, she'll really think the Fordham family is all bark and no bite."

Dahlia mulled it over, then nodded as if the idea made sense. "Fine. We'll let her off this time. But next time, I'll handle it myself."

…

Celestine watched the mother and daughter hurry away, the faint smile in her eyes slowly replaced by a cold gleam.

In the Fordham family, this flesh-eating household, no one ever truly cared for her.

Every single person was selfish, obsessed only with their own reputation.

It was laughable, really, that she'd been trapped here for six years.

She sighed softly and stepped out of the ladies' reception room.

Another sigh echoed in the hallway.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. My dear, I can see from your face that you're expecting good news—so why do you look so glum?"

Celestine looked up and saw a middle-aged man with a shiny bald head, dressed in a long, robe-like outfit that looked like a modern spin on monk's attire. He held a brown begging bowl, still speckled with a few stray grains of rice.

Alistair was a devout man—every year for his birthday, he'd invite a priest to come and offer prayers, maybe predict the family's fortunes for the coming year.

Of course, everyone knew these "priests" were barely the real deal, just paid for the occasion.

But the old man was getting on in years and found comfort in these little rituals.

As long as things didn't get out of hand, no one bothered to protest.

"Oh?" Celestine feigned delight, playing along. "And what's your advice, Father?"

Probably hedging his bets—one sounded too few, two wasn't impressive, but three was safe. And if she never had another, he could always claim fate hadn't delivered yet.

Celestine felt like she'd seen through the entire act.

She didn't want to waste another minute, so she made her excuses and slipped away.

No sooner had she left than someone else appeared beside the priest.

"Father, will she really have three children?"

Chester's voice was urgent, his dark eyes flickering with a hopeful light.

He'd just finished handling that mess with the waiter—blood at the entrance was never a good sign—so he'd come looking for the priest to perform a little ritual and smooth things over.

He hadn't expected to find the priest giving Celestine advice.

Nor had he expected to hear—three children.

Suddenly, Chester remembered the changes he'd noticed in Celestine lately.