“So what do we call you?” one of them drawled. “Loyce, like Leroy does? Or Ms. Sampson?”
“Or should it be Ms. Lonsdale?”
“But Ms. Sampson came back to the Lonsdale family and still didn’t take the name, right? And there was never any official announcement.”
Leroy gave a snort of laughter. “My older cousins are busy, and Grandpa’s busy planning my sister’s spring gala. That’s why everyone’s overlooked my cousin.”
Every word was a polite way of saying the same thing: Loyce didn’t belong, wasn’t valued, and was being hidden by the richest family because she wasn’t worth presenting.
They had no idea Loyce simply preferred keeping a low profile. She hated flashy, wasteful events.
Still spring gala? She hadn’t heard a word about it.
Loyce leaned back in the booth, voice lazy and cool. “Sybil and Leroy don’t have the Lonsdale last name either. Why haven’t they changed it? Because they don’t want to, or because they can’t?”
The table went stiff. Faces shifted.
It was like she’d flicked a match into a puddle of gasoline. Leroy’s expression darkened. “My sister and I grew up in the Lonsdale family. Of course we’re Lonsdales.”
Loyce smiled faintly. She glanced at the long row of beer cups lined up on the table, picked up a ping-pong ball, and dropped it cleanly into a cup. A splash of beer jumped over the rim.
“Is that so?” she said, voice almost conversational. “Funny, I remember your father didn’t build anything of his own, had no money, no footing. So he married into the Seabrook family. That’s why you and your sister took your mother’s name. Technically, you’re Seabrooks. Yet you’ve been living in my house all this time. Is everything… okay at your home?”
Leroy’s face turned ugly with humiliation. Out in public, calling himself a Lonsdale heir was his pride. The Seabrook name was a detail people rarely dared to mention.
Everyone knew the truth. But hearing Loyce say it out loud, so cleanly, so mercilessly, made it feel like being stripped in the street. He’d dragged her here to make her suffer, to get revenge for Sybil. Instead, he’d been pinned down by her words from the moment she sat.
Finally, Leroy snapped. He grabbed a bottle, stood up, and pointed it at her. “Watch your mouth. I’ll smash your face in!”
The bottle hovered right in front of Loyce’s eyes. People nearby flinched.
But Loyce didn’t even blink. Her gaze was icy—steady, decisive, and intimidating in a way that made the air feel thinner.
“Leroy,” she said quietly, “I’m your cousin. Acting like this, no respect, no manners, that’s not something the Lonsdale family would ever teach.”
Meeting her eyes, Leroy felt a sudden, irrational jolt of panic. But the humiliation still burned hot.
Luckily, his friends rushed to smooth things over, talking him down until he slammed the bottle back onto the table and sat.
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