Chapter 118
Sarah linked arms with George as they walked toward me, her voice soft and delicate as she answered his earlier question, "I always wear that classic Chanel style, but I wanted to try something different. This kind of traditional gown looks so special."
Terry, like a faithful lapdog, immediately chimed in, "If you like it, try it on, Sarah. With your amazing figure, you'd look absolutely stunning in this gown."
"The gowns here look expensive, but that's fine. As long as you like it, George will definitely buy it for you. You're wearing it for him anyway—he'd be thrilled."
Listening to their coordinated performance, casually judging Grandpa's life's work, this gown that meant so much to me, even using it to please George, the suppressed fury and disgust in my chest could no longer be contained.
My gaze swept coldly over Sarah's smug face as I mocked, "You're really addicted to stealing things, aren't you? Everything I want, you just have to stick your nose in? Sorry, but I saw this gown first. And..."
I stepped forward, blocking the display case, continuing word by word, "This is my grandfather's work. His creation—I will never let it fall into anyone else's hands, especially not people as revolting as you."
Today, even if it meant fighting tooth and nail, I would keep this gown.
Not just for myself, but for Grandpa.
I wanted to give it as a special gift to Flora before her surgery.
If Mom knew I'd found such a precious piece of Grandpa's work, she'd be shocked and delighted, drawing immense comfort from it.
This wasn't just a dress—it was the legacy of the Murphy family spirit, a source of strength that sustained us.
The soft smile finally faded from Sarah's face.
She looked at me, her eyes stripped of their earlier pretense, revealing only clear possessiveness and a trace of condescending contempt.
She gently released George's arm and took half a step forward. "Ms. Brown, what a coincidence—we have the same taste. However, this time I'm afraid I can't let you have it."
"I really like this gown. Very much. So, I'm taking it."
She deliberately emphasized the word "let", as if everything in the past had been favors she'd graciously bestowed upon me.
Though young, Milly sensed the tense atmosphere and hostile confrontation.
Mustering her courage, she stood beside me, lifting her small face and speaking in a childish but clear voice to Sarah, "Ms. Wilson, my mom saw this gown first. You can't just take it. Our teacher says taking other people's things is wrong."
Jack immediately jumped out, pointing at Milly and shrieking in Sarah's defense, "Milly, shut up! Do you and your mom even have money to buy it? Stop talking nonsense. Your mom already left my dad, and Dad won't give her money to buy such expensive things!"
"Dad will only buy things for my mom. You and your mom should just leave and stop embarrassing yourselves!"
Terry immediately gave Jack a thumbs up, his face full of approval. "Jack's right. Such a good boy."
Basking in the praise, Jack became even more smug.
Watching this family gang up on Milly and me with their most vicious words, I felt nothing but disgust.
Especially Terry—like a persistent fly, buzzing incessantly, utterly repulsive.
Seeing my silence, thinking he'd gotten to me, he grew even more gleeful in his mockery, "Grace, be smart and get lost with your little burden. Stop embarrassing yourself here."
"You already gave up your position as Mrs. Smith. Why are you still so shameless, haunting us like a ghost? Do you have to come around looking for trouble?"
The term "little burden" made Milly's small face flush red with anger. She glared at Terry and said loudly, "Bad man, your mouth smells so bad—worse than the kid in my class who never brushes his teeth! Stop talking, you're stinking up the place!"
At Milly's words, several onlookers couldn't help but chuckle quietly.
Terry hadn't expected to be publicly called out for bad breath by a five-year-old. His face instantly turned ugly with humiliated rage.
Not daring to lash out at a child, he directed all his anger at me, pointing and cursing, "Grace, are you blind or deaf? Can't you see your daughter spouting nonsense? Is this how you raise a kid? You two have no manners whatsoever."
I looked at him coldly, like watching a rabid dog bark.
Only after he finished ranting did I speak slowly, my voice calm without a ripple, "I taught Milly that when you encounter a mad dog biting people, you don't reason with it. You just tell it, 'Your mouth really stinks.' I think I taught her very well."
"At least better than certain things that lack even basic decency and only know how to grovel at others' heels."
"You—!" Terry trembled with rage, fists clenched, on the verge of losing it completely.
Sarah timely reached out, gently stopping him with a shake of her head, signaling him to calm down.
Terry forced down his fury, glaring at me viciously as he squeezed out a string of venomous taunts through gritted teeth, "Fine, keep running that mouth. You're just trying to get George's attention again with these tricks, aren't you?"
"Let me tell you—it's useless! Even if you stripped naked and stood in front of him, he wouldn't spare you a second glance."
"Give up on this dress right now. It'll never end up in your hands—you can only look at it!"
I was about to fire back with something even sharper to completely swat down this pest.
Just then, a gentle but slightly surprised voice came from behind me, "Grace, you're here too?"
My heart sank sharply.
That voice belonged to Atticus Morgan.
I turned around to see Gemma accompanying a well-dressed, scholarly gentleman walking over.
That gentleman was Atticus.
Atticus was one of George's few relatively close friends. He came from wealth, ran his own investment firm, and had extensive connections in their circle.
More importantly, he also knew Terry and Sarah—they were all part of the same social circle.
Seeing me, his face showed perfectly calibrated surprise, his gaze then sweeping over the several people standing tensely around me.
Spotting George, Sarah, Terry, and a defiant-looking Jack, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly before quickly resuming a polished smile.
Gemma also noticed our confrontation. She clearly knew both Atticus and George, her face flashing with difficulty and awkwardness.
Atticus's arrival made the already subtle and tense atmosphere even more complicated.
I looked at him, then at Gemma beside him wearing an uneasy expression, then back at those faces across from me, written with malice and triumph. My heart sank bit by bit.