Chapter 41
The brass handles on Grand Central Plaza's revolving doors gleamed brightly, reflecting Valencia and Seraphine as they walked in one after the other.
Valencia had deliberately worn flats today, prepared to spend the entire afternoon shopping.
She looped her arm through her daughter's, her gaze sweeping over Seraphine's unchanging white top. "Sera, I'm buying you beautiful clothes today. Look at you—always wearing the same few things. It breaks my heart."
Seraphine allowed herself to be led, simply nodding. "I have enough to wear."
"Enough and looking good are two different things." Valencia pulled her toward the second floor without argument.
She glanced back at Seraphine. "Though, Sera looks good no matter what."
Seraphine's mouth curved slightly. She didn't argue further.
The mother and daughter turned into an Italian brand boutique.
Valencia picked up a misty blue dress and held it up against Seraphine, about to speak—when a familiar, shrill voice rang out behind them.
"Well, if it isn't Seraphine?"
Haven walked over from the opposite boutique, arm in arm with Xiomara, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
Today she wore a rose-red suit, a string of pearls around her neck—every inch of her screaming nouveau riche.
Xiomara followed beside her in a white Chanel-style dress, hair down over her shoulders, wearing that standard gentle smile.
The four of them came face-to-face at the brightly lit boutique entrance. The air tightened instantly.
Haven's gaze rolled up and down Valencia first.
Same plain outfit—gray pantsuit, no obvious logos, no jewelry, no recognizable brand. A sneer immediately crept onto her lips.
Then she looked at Seraphine. That gaze became even more brazen.
"Looks like you're doing well—can even afford to shop here now." Haven drawled, her eyes sweeping over the racks of five-figure-priced clothing, her voice loud enough for the entire boutique to hear. "More money from that old man? Your father talked to you so much last time, but you didn't listen to a word. Turned right around and came to a place like this to splurge. Seraphine, you lived in our house for twenty years—can't you at least leave yourself and the Wipere family some dignity?"
"Mom," Xiomara tugged gently at Haven's sleeve, her voice so soft it could drip water. "Don't say that. Seraphine has her difficulties. Life isn't easy for her in that household. Wanting to improve her situation is only natural."
"What difficulties could she have?" Haven scoffed, raising her voice as though afraid the people around them wouldn't hear. "That old man's willing to let her ride in a Rolls-Royce—he's not short on money for clothes. What I can't stand is this—she played the high-and-mighty act for twenty years in the Wipere family, and the moment she left, her true colors came out. Mara, you're too kind. Someone like her doesn't deserve you defending her."
The two salespeople in the boutique paused their work and pricked up their ears, glancing over.
Customers at the neighboring boutiques turned their heads, their gazes sweeping over Seraphine repeatedly.
Xiomara sighed, her tone tinged with just the right amount of regret. "Actually, Seraphine's in a tough spot. She grew up in our family, then suddenly found out she wasn't blood-related and went back to a family with such different circumstances—of course she's unbalanced. Wanting to find someone to lean on is understandable. It's just that gentleman's age—"
She trailed off deliberately, lowering her eyes and leaving a meaningful blank.
That blank was more vicious than any words. It left plenty of room for onlookers to fill in all kinds of sordid scenarios.
Some whispered to their companions. Others' gazes toward Seraphine had already changed.
Valencia lowered the dress in her hand.
She turned to face Haven and Xiomara, her expression maintaining basic politeness—but the warmth in her eyes was dropping degree by degree.
These people dared to insult her daughter like this? And say the Windsor family's circumstances were poor?
"What old man?" She spoke, her voice not loud, but every word clear and distinct, suppressing deep fury. "What old man did you just mention?"
Haven glanced up and down at Valencia, the contempt at the corner of her mouth deepening.
"You don't know?" Haven laughed—sharp and loud. "Your daughter's been getting cozy with some seventy-year-old man. Mara and I saw it with our own eyes. Black Rolls-Royce, custom plates, that old man patting her shoulder, real intimate—as her mother, don't tell me you don't know what your daughter's up to? Or maybe—"
She paused deliberately, her gaze circling Valencia. "This sort of thing is already normal in your household? Makes sense. People used to being poor—as long as there's money to be made, what are principles?"
Xiomara chimed in at just the right moment, her voice even softer and gentler, as though sympathizing with Valencia.
"Please don't blame my mother for being blunt. She just feels bad for you. When Seraphine was in the Wipere family, at least she was raised like a proper young lady. She's only been back with you a short while and already turned out like this. We're just worried she's going down the wrong path. After all, that gentleman is so elderly—if word gets out, it won't look good for Seraphine's reputation or your family's reputation."
"And," Xiomara spoke again, this time looking directly at Seraphine, her tone reaching the peak of gentleness—and hypocrisy. "Seraphine, if you really need something, you can speak up. Gavin and I will do our best to help you. You don't have to stoop to this."
Mother and daughter sang in perfect harmony—one wielding a blade of sharp cruelty, the other wrapping it in gauze of gentle concern. A flawless performance.
Five or six onlookers had gathered at the boutique entrance. Some whispered. Some stole glances at Seraphine.
But Seraphine's expression hadn't changed from the start.
She stood beside Valencia, not even blinking an extra time.
Valencia, however, laughed.
A cold laugh laced with fury.
"Seventy-something?" She repeated the number, then turned to look at Seraphine. "Sera, who are they talking about?"
Seraphine met her mother's gaze and smiled faintly. "Mr. Orion FitzRoy. I went to the hospital with him for a follow-up."
Valencia closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
She understood now—Orion's health wasn't good. Seraphine had gone with him for a medical check-up.
A perfectly legitimate medical visit had been twisted by this mother-daughter pair into "being with an old man."
And clearly, when they'd called Sera back to the Wipere Villa, it had been about this.
Valencia's chest tightened with rage. She didn't even want to imagine what they'd said to Sera back at the Wipere Villa.
But judging from the vile words just now, it couldn't have been anything decent.
She turned to face Haven directly. "Who gave you the right to slander my daughter like this?"