Chapter 2

"Quinn Hart, my patience is limited. You'd better quit while you're ahead."

My mother spoke coldly.

I didn't budge, staring straight at her.

This might be my last chance to be this close to her.

I leaned my face even closer.

Her brow furrowed, a flash of offended anger in her eyes.

She raised her hand as if to slap me away, but eventually lowered her arm.

We were locked in a standoff for a full minute.

The housewives around us shopping for groceries gathered to watch.

Unable to stand the onlookers' gazes, my mother compromised.

Her eyes swept over my face covered in fish scales:

"Too dirty. Go wash your face clean."

A surge of secret joy rose in my heart, though I kept my shameless, carefree expression on the surface.

I rinsed the grime off my face and brought it close to hers again.

"All clean now, Miss Smith—please inspect."

She closed her eyes, held her breath, and touched my cheek extremely quickly.

Then her face turned completely cold as she turned to leave:

"Follow me."

As we walked out of the market, the butcher from the neighboring stall poked his head out.

"Quinn, closing up early today?"

"Who's this rich lady? Here to buy fish from you?"

I waved at him.

"Not doing this anymore—off to be a rich kid now."

"Uncle, the leftover fish are yours!"

Diana, walking ahead, paused in her steps, the coldness on her face deepening.

She sneered:

"Five years apart, and you've completely fallen into a money pit."

"Back then when you followed that good father of yours, I thought you two could accomplish something earth-shattering."

I didn't argue back, obediently following her into the Rolls-Royce parked by the roadside.

The car's interior was filled with a faint woody fragrance.

My mother leaned back in the passenger seat, her gaze passing over me to look out the window.

In a flat tone, she began describing her current status:

"I've acquired basically all the competing companies on the market."

"Even if you worked your whole life, you couldn't earn what I make in interest in a single day."

But she didn't mention a word about how she'd reached this point over the past five years.

I knew how much scorn we'd endured in the family in my previous life.

Looking at her exquisite but exhausted profile, I felt genuinely happy for her.

She finally didn't have to relive the misery of her previous life.

When she finished, I calmly replied: "Oh."

That single flippant word infuriated her.

She whipped her head around, staring at me hard.

"I shouldn't have had any expectations of you."

"You're hopeless mud that can't stick to a wall—not a single brain cell in your head."

The pressure in the car plummeted.

She turned away, showing me the back of her head, completely refusing to communicate.

After the car drove for a while, I broke the stalemate:

"What's the marriage partner's name? I should at least know who my meal ticket is, right?"

"In case it's some seventy or eighty-year-old geezer, I need to prepare quick-acting heart pills in advance."

She kept her eyes closed, not even wanting to look at me:

"Caspian Godfrey. Around your age."

I froze instantly, my heartbeat skipping.

Caspian Godfrey?

Wasn't that my ex's name?