Chapter 5

Grace Gardner's POV

I had thought that after the nameplate was removed, I would become completely invisible in the Foster family, and at least earn a moment of peace.

But I had underestimated Mrs. Foster’s methods of tormenting people.

Humiliation in the Foster family had always been a slow slicing, inch by inch.

Before lunch on the day after the nameplate was taken down, eight people were seated in the small reception room.

Mrs. Foster sat high in the head seat, with Zachary beside her.

On the table lay the documents for the Foster Group Charitable Foundation’s spring allocation.

In previous years, I had always personally signed for this fund and followed up on the process.

“Starting this year, I will review this fund,” Mrs. Foster announced coldly. “For the household accounts, it is always more reassuring when an elder personally checks things over.”

The butler handed the folder directly to Mrs. Foster.

This year, my signature field was completely empty.

But when the previous page was flipped open, my notes and signature from last year, earned through so much hard work, were still pressed beneath it.

An elder from a side branch immediately smiled ingratiatingly. “With you personally managing it, of course it will be more reliable. it will prevent certain people with dirty hands from messing with it, the elder Mrs. Foster sighed hypocritically.”

After Mrs. Foster signed, she sighed hypocritically. “I’m also helping Grace share the burden. That girl hasn’t had it easy.”

Only then did Zachary finally deign to look at me across from him.

“Mother is only afraid you’re too tired. Don’t take it to heart.” His voice was warm and gentle.

Listening to those high-sounding words, I suddenly felt a wave of nausea.

I finally saw through this man’s fixed, disgusting pattern—

Using an old debt to humiliate me in public was called dredging up old grievances.

Taking down my nameplate in public was called reassuring the elders.

Stripping away my last bit of signing authority was called being afraid I was too tired.

In Zachary’s mouth, every single flaying, tendon-stripping thing Mrs. Foster did to me could be whitewashed with a decent, affectionate reason!

After lunch ended, I returned to my room.

I pulled out a blank envelope and took out every out-of-pocket receipt and transportation invoice related to the charitable foundation from the past nearly three months, one by one, then placed them neatly inside.

On the front of the envelope, I wrote today’s date with heavy strokes.

At dusk, Zachary unusually came to my room carrying a box of expensive desserts and casually asked whether my knee was doing better.

Without even looking at that box of desserts, I pushed the envelope full of out-of-pocket receipts directly in front of him.

I said nothing.

Zachary glanced at the date on the front of the envelope. He had no interest at all in opening it.

I turned around and walked toward the kitchen to heat the herbal pack for my knee.

The boiling water churned, and scalding steam rushed up, burning my fingers so sharply that they jerked back.

That piercing pain in my left knee began to surge upward again, endless and unrelenting.