?Chapter 508:


    In her imaginary world, Madeline was infallible. Norah’s resistance to giarism was the true crime, and the faulty with those who failed toply with Madeline’s whims.


    Clutching at any excuse that might redeem her daughter, Rhoda stood staunchly by Madeline’s side, her fingers stroking her daughter’s hair with tenderness and pride. “Madeline ispetitive, always striving for the best. It’s not her fault,” she dered, her voice a mix of motherly concern and fierce loyalty. In Rhoda’s eyes, her daughter was perfect, beyond reproach.


    Coen’s response, however, was not one of misguided protection, but a simmering anger directed at his daughter’s carelessness. How could she have been so sloppy in her duplicity?


    This could tarnish their own reputations as parents. As Coen pondered the lost opportunity for business coboration, a fire raged in his chest.


    In an attempt to cate Rhoda while also distancing himself from his wife’s defense of Madeline’s actions, Derek responded, “Mrs. Powell, I understand your perspective. I love Madeline. If I had known about this, I would have protected her from any harm.” His tone attempted to exude concern and reason. To him, it was just a draft. If Madeline liked it, why couldn’t she use it?


    What was the harm?


    Derek’s mind raced with a litany of perceived slights at Norah’s hands. He recalled how she had once refused to give handmade sachets to his mother and sister, despite his request. What was the harm in sharing such a small gift, especially when it wasn’t about the money?


    This self-centeredness of Norah’s appeared to have resurfaced today, and Derek struggled to reconcile this stinginess with the girl he once knew. The sense of loyalty within him red with indignation, his mind circling around the idea that she had waited for the moment to inflict the most damage.


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    He held Madeline’s hand tighter, a clear sign of his allegiance. “Mr. and Mrs. Powell, please don’t worry about Madeline,” he dered, his voice tinged with both conviction and pride. “I will protect her.”


    Coen, still shaken by the day’s events, attempted to mask his lingering confusion with a reassuring smile. “Derek, I know you will do the right thing. You are a good man. It is a shame about the potential business opportunity with the Morris family.”


    Seizing on a potential solution, Derek leaned forward, his tone gaining a level of excitement. “It urs to me that if you are still searching for new business partners, perhaps I can introduce you to someone with a very impressive background,” he suggested, his wordsced with promise.


    At Hancock Shooting Club, Susanna’s irritation grew with each step, the sound of footsteps behind her a persistent reminder of the unwanted presence. “They are such pests!” she said, her voice low and filled with distaste. “Why do they insist on sticking to us like leeches?” Her nostrils red with irritation, the very air feeling heavier with their presence. Susanna did not hate Spencer, but her irritation towards Amabel was not hidden, a thorn in her side that festered the longer the woman lingered near. To Susanna, the mere act of breathing in Amabel’s vicinity felt like a trial, one she had no patience to endure.


    Sean, keenly aware of his sister’s discontent, cast a brief yet reassuring nce at their unwanted shadow. “Just ignore them,” he said. “Our time at the shooting club is ours alone, and we will not let them taint it.”


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