Chapter 230
Milton sat nearby and watched the entire scene unfold.
He glanced down at the dipping sauce in front of Hestia—already half empty—then at the dish in front of Dahlia, still glistening with red chili oil. He couldn't help but smile. "It's okay. Dahlia probably just ate too fast."
He picked up a glass of water from the table and handed it to her, his tone gentle. "Have some water. Take your time. There's no rush."
Lucinda sat at the center of the round table, watching the whole thing from start to finish.
She speared the shrimp Reginald had peeled for her with her fork, chewed twice, and swallowed slowly.
Not bad.
Meanwhile, in the Wipere family's private dining room, the crowd had thinned considerably.
The door kept opening and closing as guests made their exits, one after another.
Gemma stood by the entrance, her smile frozen into something resembling a mask.
She watched them rise from their seats, muttering excuses like "family emergency" or "let's get together next time"—but most didn't even bother with pretenses. They grabbed their coats and left without a backward glance.
In less than half an hour, the room was half empty.
Tatum stood up too. She picked up her handbag and gave Marshall a curt nod. "Let's go."
Allegra's heart clenched.
She watched Marshall rise, her fingers gripping the edge of the table.
"Marshall—"
Just as Marshall reached the door, Allegra called out to him.
Her voice carried a perfectly calibrated tremor as she lowered it. "Can you… wait a moment? I need to talk to you."
Marshall's steps faltered. He turned his head to look at her.
Tatum stopped as well, her brow furrowing slightly with impatience, though she didn't say anything.
Allegra stood and walked over to him, head bowed, her voice laced with careful vulnerability. "Marshall, I know today disappointed you. But… I…"
She lifted her eyes, which were now slightly red-rimmed, and took a deep breath as if steeling herself. "Could you stay… for the baby's sake?"
The room fell silent.
Marshall's pupils contracted sharply, as if he hadn't quite processed what she'd said. "What… what did you just say?"
Allegra lowered her head again, her voice softer now, tinged with perfectly measured shyness. "I… I wasn't planning to say anything this early. But I really don't want you to leave."
Marshall stood frozen, his mind buzzing.
He stared at Allegra's hand resting lightly on her lower abdomen. His throat bobbed several times, but no words came out.
Allegra… was pregnant?
Tatum's teacup stopped mid-air.
She whipped around, her gaze cutting into Allegra like a blade, sweeping over her from head to toe before settling on her stomach.
"Pregnant?" Tatum bit out each word as if dragging it through her teeth. "When did this happen? Are you sure?"
Allegra met Tatum's scrutinizing eyes and felt a jolt of panic, but her expression remained flawless.
She lowered her head, her voice wounded. "I… I only just confirmed it recently. I wanted to wait until things were more stable before telling you."
Tatum stared at her for several long seconds, as if trying to see straight through her.
She'd never liked Allegra. Not from the very first meeting.
She knew this woman was trouble—vain, deceitful, always clinging to wealth and power.
She'd warned Marshall countless times, but her son acted like he was under some kind of spell. He refused to listen.
And now there was a baby.
No matter how much she despised Allegra, she couldn't ignore her grandchild.
Marshall still stood there, his expression cycling through shock, disbelief, hesitation, and struggle before settling into something murky and unreadable.
He knew Allegra wasn't a good person.
The plagiarism, the slander, the scheming—he'd investigated it all and found the truth.
But now she was carrying his child. No matter what, he couldn't just walk away.
He closed his eyes briefly. When he looked at Allegra again, his expression had grown complicated, his voice heavy. "…Sit down."
Allegra's heart finally settled.
Gemma, watching closely from the side, immediately seized the opportunity to chime in.
"Marshall, you're a man of integrity. I've always known that. Allegra's carrying your child right now—she needs someone to take care of her. The Grayson family has a reputation to uphold. You can't just leave her with no status, no security…"
She trailed off, but the implication was crystal clear.
Marshall turned his head away, avoiding her gaze, his head bowed as if deep in thought.
Tatum shot Gemma a look so cold it could freeze water.
Gemma wisely shut her mouth and retreated to her seat.
The room fell quiet again.
Allegra returned to her chair, pretending to smooth out her napkin, but a faint smile flickered at the corners of her lips, hidden beneath her curtain of hair.
She wasn't actually pregnant. But to keep the Grayson family on the hook, she'd had no choice but to play this card.
With a baby in the picture, she held all the leverage.
She lifted her head and scanned the remaining guests in the room.
The few scattered tables had lost all their earlier energy. Only a handful of the Wipere family's distant relatives remained.
Most of them were from the countryside—dressed casually, speaking loudly.
The dishes on the table had been picked nearly clean, plates stacked high, sauce splattered across the tablecloth.
A few half-grown kids had grown restless and started chasing each other around the room, their shrieks and laughter piercing the quiet space.
Gemma stood by the door, watching the relatives, her expression darkening by the second.
A running child brushed past her, smearing grease all over the sleeve of her new designer dress. She looked down at the stain, her temple throbbing.
"Stop running! Sit down, all of you!"
She snapped at them under her breath. No one paid attention.
A little boy ran to the corner of the room and stepped onto the handwoven wool rug, his shoes still caked with mud from outside.
He jumped up and down twice, leaving a trail of black footprints.
Another girl grabbed a juice glass from the table, waved it around, and lost her grip. The glass shattered on the floor, dark juice splattering halfway up the wall.
Gemma's face went white.
She strode over and grabbed the boy by the arm. "What do you think you're doing! Do you have any idea how much that rug costs?"
The boy burst into tears.
His mother rushed over, snatched him into her arms, and glared at Gemma. "What are you doing? He's just a kid! So he stepped on it—so what? Isn't the Wipere family supposed to be rich? Why are you getting all worked up over a rug?"
Gemma's whole body trembled with rage. "Rich? Being rich doesn't mean you get to destroy everything! Do you have any idea how much everything in this room costs?"
"Costs what?" The woman rolled her eyes. "You invited us here to eat and drink, didn't you? The kid's just playing around—what's the big deal? Acting all high and mighty over a rug. What kind of 'prestigious family' are you supposed to be?"