“A heads-up? If we’d given you a heads-up, would we have been able to witness this fine spectacle?”
Marianne, on the other hand, was impeccably maintained. She wore a designer suit, carried a limited-edition Hermès bag, and had a polite but distant smile on her face.
“Damien, so this is your… long-lost love?”
She emphasized the last few words, making it sound more like a taunt than a compliment.
Grace’s heart sank a little.
She was all too familiar with that kind of look.
Now, in the Clarke family, she was once again the unwelcome intruder.
But this time, Damien was standing by her side.
“Grace, go get changed,” Damien said, patting her back gently. “I’ll handle this.”
Grace nodded and was about to head upstairs, wrapped in the blanket.
“Stop!”
Harold’s sharp voice stopped her in her tracks.
“If you’re going to be part of the family, there’s nothing to hide. Go change into some proper clothes and come down to pour us some tea.”
He was establishing the rules.
Just as Damien was about to retort, Grace gently squeezed his hand.
She shook her head at him.
She didn’t want him to fight with his parents on her account the moment they met.
“Okay. Please wait a moment.”
Grace turned and went upstairs, her back ramrod straight.
Damien watched her go, a flicker of pain in his eyes. He then turned to his parents, his expression instantly turning cold.
“Dad, if you came back just to throw your weight around, then I’m afraid I have no time for this.”
“You insolent whelp!”
Harold slammed his hand on the table.
“What have you been doing this past year? Bankrupting the Ward family and pushing the Hart family to the brink, all for a divorced woman! Do you have any idea what people in our circle are saying about the Clarke family?!”
Damien sneered, calmly adjusting his cuffs.
“They got what they deserved.”
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