Celestine glanced toward the door, where Dahlia stood radiating hostility.
“You little tramp! My son still hasn’t woken up, and yet you have the nerve to rest?”
Luther’s brow furrowed. “Celly’s been injured too. How can you talk to her like that?”
“Mr. Selwyn, I still respect you as an elder, so here’s some advice—don’t meddle! Celestine is still the Fordham family’s daughter-in-law. Once a daughter’s married off, she’s no longer your concern. Spare yourself the worry.”
Dahlia strode into the hospital room, her gaze sweeping over everything. Her eyes landed on the expensive nutritional supplements on the table, and she sneered under her breath, “Trying to keep up appearances, huh?”
Sensing her grandfather’s distress, Celestine reached for his arm and faced Dahlia with icy calm. “What do you want?”
“What do I want? I want to see you dead!” Dahlia shot her a venomous glare.
This wretched girl just wouldn’t die, would she? Somehow she’d clawed her way back from the brink—so why was her own son still unconscious? The more Dahlia thought about it, the angrier she became.
“If you’re not dead, then pack up your things and get back home to take care of Chester!”
“Dahlia, that’s enough!” Luther’s temper spiked; his blood pressure was practically audible.
Celestine quickly pulled him aside, tossed off the bedsheet, and stepped forward to confront Dahlia.
“Chester and I are divorced. I have no obligation or responsibility to care for him.”
Dahlia scoffed. “Divorced? My son’s still in that hospital bed, so don’t you dare talk to me about divorce. Listen to me, Celestine: your only duty right now is to look after Chester!”
Luther had spent a lifetime in the arts, but he’d never encountered someone as insufferable as this woman.
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