Chapter 120
She glanced back at Wesley, who was sitting on the sofa reading the newspaper. Sensing her gaze, he looked up. "What's wrong?"
"Cindy's not coming home for dinner again. She said there's something at the institute—she has to work late."
Valencia's brow furrowed deeply, as if speaking to Wesley and herself at the same time. "Cindy works so hard. Are we not giving her enough? Does she not have enough to spend? No, I need to make it up to her properly."
She lowered her eyes in thought, then swiped across her phone screen and dialed another number.
The call connected. Her voice regained the composure and decisiveness of Mrs. Douglas. "Lawyer, that property I own on the west side—Willow Creek Estate. Get the paperwork done and transfer it to Cindy's name. Yes, that one. The one with the garden and basement. Yes, do it now."
She hung up, set the phone on the coffee table, and took a sip of tea. Only then did she feel a bit more at ease.
At the corner of the staircase, Dahlia stood holding a glass of juice, her face twisted.
Willow Creek Estate.
She'd mentioned that property to Valencia several times, saying she wanted to move there, that the environment was perfect for her painting. Every time, Valencia had brushed her off with an excuse.
Now, just like that, it was being given away.
Without even asking her once.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She swallowed down the bitterness rising in her throat, turned, and went back to her room.
At 6:40 PM, the Douglas Estate. A black Bentley slowly pulled through the gates.
Valencia heard the sound and came out of the living room. When she saw the car, her eyes lit up instantly.
"Manuel's home!"
The car door opened. Manuel stepped out, wearing a dark gray suit jacket. His features were sharp and refined—seventy percent like Wesley's, but with an added edge unique to someone younger.
"Mom."
Valencia rushed over and hugged him, patting his back, her eyes reddening. "You finally decided to come home! Your sister's been back for days, and you, her older brother, haven't shown your face once!"
"I've been busy." Manuel patted his mother's back, his tone carrying a hint of playful indulgence. "But the moment I finished, I rushed back, didn't I?"
Valencia let him go, looked him up and down, muttering, "You've gotten thinner," then turned and headed toward the kitchen. "Uma, add two more dishes!"
Manuel changed his shoes and walked into the living room. His gaze swept the space. He didn't see that slender figure. His brow twitched slightly. "Where's Cindy?"
"Working late at the institute. She's not coming home for dinner." Valencia's voice floated out from the kitchen, tinged with heartache.
The Douglas family had learned about Lucinda working at the research institute from Milton back then—it had been quite a shock.
Manuel hummed in acknowledgment, sat down on the sofa, and accepted the teacup Wesley handed him, taking a sip.
Light footsteps sounded on the stairs. Dahlia came down carrying a fruit platter, her face plastered with a saccharine smile. She trotted over to Manuel in small steps. "Manuel! You're finally home! I missed you so much!"
She set the platter on the coffee table, sat down next to Manuel, and looped her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder. Her voice was soft. "Manuel, you must be exhausted from working so hard. I cut some fruit for you. Try it."
Manuel glanced down at her, his lips curving slightly. He picked up a piece of apple and bit into it. "Sweet."
Dahlia's eyes crinkled with a smile. Manuel had always doted on her. She didn't believe he wouldn't take her side.
Dahlia leaned against his shoulder, her gaze sweeping around the living room. Confirming that Valencia was still in the kitchen and Wesley was absorbed in his newspaper, she lowered her voice, injecting a hint of grievance into her tone. "Manuel, there's something I don't know if I should tell you..."
Manuel chewed his apple and glanced at her. "Tell me."
Dahlia bit her lip, her eyes reddening slightly, her voice dropping even lower. "Ever since Lucinda came back... I don't know if I did something wrong, but she always seems to look at me with disapproval. She gives me cold looks all the time. Whatever I say, she doesn't respond. Sometimes she deliberately snaps at me. I bring her fruit, and she doesn't even glance at it. I try to talk to her, and she ignores me with her earbuds in."
She paused, her voice dropping further, tinged with a sob. "And she keeps asking Mom and Dad for money and things in all sorts of ways. Houses, companies, jewelry—she wants everything. Manuel, I know she's the Douglas family's biological daughter, but she can't act like this... Mom and Dad's money doesn't just fall from the sky..."
Manuel set down the apple, leaned back into the sofa, and turned his head to look at Dahlia.
His expression remained unchanged. He just looked at her quietly.
Dahlia felt uneasy under that gaze and lowered her head, her fingers twisting the hem of her skirt. "Manuel, I'm just telling you. Don't be mad. I just think... the way she's acting isn't right."
Manuel was silent for a few seconds. He reached for his teacup, took another sip, and set it down. "Got it."
One sentence. Bland and indifferent.
Dahlia waited, but no follow-up came.
She looked up and saw Manuel had already picked up the newspaper from the coffee table and started flipping through it, his expression flat, unreadable.
Her fingers tightened around her skirt, then loosened.
"Manuel, aren't you—"
"Dahlia." Manuel suddenly spoke, his gaze still on the newspaper, his voice calm.
"What?"
"The fruit was sweet. Thank you."
Dahlia froze for a moment. Her smile faltered, but she quickly adjusted it, nodding obediently. "As long as you like it. I'll cut fruit for you every day from now on."
She stood up, picked up the now half-empty fruit platter, and headed toward the kitchen.
At the kitchen doorway, she couldn't help but glance back.
Manuel was still sitting on the sofa, flipping through the newspaper, his expression calm.
Dahlia bit her lip, turned, and walked into the kitchen. She set the platter down on the counter with a clatter, her expression resentful.
She'd said so much, and all Manuel replied with was "the fruit was sweet"?
Did he even listen to a word she said?
Dinner was more lavish than usual.
Valencia had personally cooked two dishes and had Uma bring out a bottle of prized red wine.
Manuel sat to Wesley's right, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing lean, strong wrists. He looked more relaxed than he ever did at the office.
Wesley speared a piece of meat and placed it in Manuel's bowl, a trace of satisfaction in his eyes. "Your sister took out the company’s rotten egg today."
Manuel's utensils paused. He looked up at his father.
"Joseph?" he asked.
"You know about him?"
"VP at Ridgeway Tech. He's been flaunting his supposed connection to the Douglas family for years, scamming people left and right. I heard about him at headquarters, but I never had time to deal with him." Manuel put the meat in his mouth, chewed twice, and his lips curved into a meaningful smile. "Didn't expect Cindy to beat me to it."
Wesley set down his utensils and recounted everything—Joseph selling company data, running an underground casino, sexually harassing female employees.
"The evidence chain was so airtight that even the Economic Crimes Unit called it textbook-level. Your sister dug up four years' worth of accounts, surveillance footage, and chat records—all by herself. Joseph had the nerve to act tough in the interrogation room, saying he wanted to see us. The moment he saw us, he dropped to his knees and cried, saying he didn't know Cindy was the Douglas family's daughter. Where was that attitude before?"