“Mrs. Russell, your generosity touches me deeply. I can move past previous grievances, but should Delia persist in provoking issues once married, I won’t hold back.”

Delia’s prior schemes—repeatedly orchestrating smear campaigns and fueling vicious online harassment—had ultimately boomeranged, shattering her public image irreparably.

In essence, she had invited her own downfall.

Abruptly, a soft wail pierced the room as the infant stirred in her crib, her pacifier tumbling out as she cried heartily.

Valeria swiftly lifted the child into her arms, rocking her gently and cooing until the tears subsided, her affection growing with every endearing feature.

She glanced at Gracie with mild reproach. “Tell me, when will you and Brayden bless me with a precious grandchild like this one?”

Gracie fell momentarily silent, caught off guard. Such matters couldn’t be forced, yet in that instant, a realization struck her—she hadn’t had her monthly cycle since that intimate evening.

“Please continue your conversation. I must step out briefly for a pressing errand,” Gracie excused herself hastily, heading toward the door.

“Of course—handle whatever it is promptly.” Valeria waved her off understandingly.

Gracie departed the villa in a rush, nearly colliding with two recognizable individuals entering the grounds.

Gifford and Delia approached arm in arm through the yard.

Their eyes met, and Gifford offered a courteous nod. “Gracie, it’s been a while. Have you and Mrs. Stanley come to check on my mom?”

“Yes. My mom is inside visiting with her now,” Gracie answered civilly.

Delia clung tighter to Gifford’s arm, interjecting sweetly. “Gracie, Gary forwarded you the wedding invite—why ignore it? Are you still holding a grudge against me?”

Gifford’s expression tightened at her remark, and he cast Delia a stern, warning glance.

Gracie remained composed. “We’re hardly on familiar terms. Regarding the invitation, no sensible individual would attend the nuptials of someone who previously mobilized crowds to harass them online.”

Delia’s complexion flushed noticeably at the rebuke. She turned to Gifford with watery eyes, feigning hurt. “Gifford…”

The pitiful display made Gracie look like the aggressor without cause.

Unfazed by the theatrics, Gracie acknowledged Gifford with a polite incline of her head before proceeding onward.

As she neared her vehicle, Delia’s voice rang out sharply from behind, stripped of any pretense of vulnerability. “Gracie, don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ve triumphed! You and Brayden pressured my father to marry me off, believing it would neutralize me permanently? Yet I’m going to marry into the Russell family, averting our corporate downfall, and I’m poised for a lavish existence. All your schemes crumbled.”

Gracie pivoted slowly, appraising Delia coolly from head to toe. “I scarcely register you as a rival. Wasting energy vying over a man bores me—you’re exhausting, but I’m simply uninterested.”

Stepping closer with unmistakable authority, she said firmly, “Consider this your last caution: provoke me once more, and you’ll live to regret it deeply.”

Without another glance, she slid into her car and drove away.

Delia remained frozen in place, her fists balled furiously at her sides.

Rapid footsteps approached from behind.

Gifford seized her arm with an unyielding grip. “Why provoke her like that? Brayden and Gracie have shown considerable restraint already. Can you not simply honor your word and live quietly now that we’re married?”

Delia wrenched free aggressively. “I’m the one causing problems? Don’t you see how she belittles me? And you just stood there silently, offering no defense! It’s obvious—your feelings for me aren’t genuine in the slightest!”

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