Chapter 200

Grace White tapped her crystal glass with manicured fingertips, watching the orange juice swirl gently. She lifted her gaze, calmly surveying the pair before her—her former fiancé and stepsister.

Frederick Von's breathing hitched. After twenty years, she was more radiant than he remembered. The stubborn girl had blossomed into a woman of effortless elegance, though those clear eyes still made his heart stutter.

"Yes?" Grace's crimson lips parted, her voice glacial.

Giselle Gould spoke first. "Grace, where have you been all these years? Father's been worried sick."

"Worried?" Grace chuckled mirthlessly. "Worried I didn't die properly, you mean?"

Nearby guests turned at the barbed remark.

Giselle's face tightened. "How could you say that? We're family."

"Family?" Grace swirled her drink. "Was that what you were thinking when you climbed into my fiancé's bed?"

Frederick interjected hastily, "Grace, that was all a misunderstanding—"

"Misunderstanding?" Her eyebrow arched. "Shall I refresh your memory about how I caught you in flagrante?"

The ballroom fell silent.

Giselle's nails dug into her palms. She loathed Grace's imperious demeanor.

"Let bygones be bygones," Frederick said with affected tenderness. "Perhaps we could meet privately?"

Grace scoffed. "To discuss what? Your inability to keep it in your pants?"

She rose, stilettoes clicking sharply against marble.

"Twenty years, Frederick, and you're still revolting."

His face darkened at the public humiliation.

Giselle's eyes welled with crocodile tears. "Grace, Father truly misses you—"

"Misses me?" Grace's smile turned arctic. "Or misses my kidneys? I heard the old man's in renal failure."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Giselle trembled—how did she know?

"Leave," Grace turned away. "You're embarrassing yourselves."

"Wait!" Giselle snapped, mask slipping. "You think this is twenty years ago? Without the Gould name, you're nothing in the capital!"

Grace glanced back, lips curling. "Is that so?"

A cool feminine voice cut through the tension. "Mother, you're late. Uncle David's been waiting."

Lucy White linked arms with Grace, eyeing the pair. "And these people are...?"

"Nobody important." Grace patted her daughter's hand affectionately.

Giselle's pupils constricted. Uncle David? Not...that Wilson family?

Frederick blanched, finally noticing the jade bracelet on Grace's wrist—the same one that broke auction records this year.

"Let's go." Lucy cast them a dismissive look. "Some people just enjoy self-inflicted humiliation."

Arm in arm, mother and daughter departed, leaving a seething Giselle and shell-shocked Frederick in their wake.

The ballroom buzzed with whispers.

Giselle glared daggers at Grace's retreating figure, venom in her gaze.

Why did this bitch have to come back?