Her daughter was already getting love letters?


    Now it made sense to Anastasia-no wonder Lisa had been so hostile toward her.


    If Lisa had juste to her calmly about the kids, Anastasia would have handled it the same way. But this?


    Anastasia shot back, "Your son is the one writing love letters. Mrs. Reed, maybe you should pay more attention to your own child instead of keeping tabs on everyone else''s."


    In Anastasia''s book, she could put up with a lot, but not when it came to her family or her child.


    Lisa''s tone had made it clear-she was basically ming Paradise for leading her son on. Like hell Anastasia was going to let that slide.


    Not a chance.


    “Anastasia, what is that supposed to mean? Are you just going to ignore this?” Lisa was so flustered she dropped all formalities. "You''re her mother! How could you just stand by? Or did you actually teach your daughter to—"


    "Mrs. Reed, you and I run in the same circles. We''ll be seeing each other again and again. It''s best for everyone if we watch what we say," Anastasia said coolly. “We''re both mothers here. Why direct so much hostility at a child? And be careful—don''t let yourself get used as someone else''s pawn."


    Before today, Anastasia and Lisa had barely exchanged more than a polite nod. But that “Did you actually—" from Lisa made Anastasia''s radar ping. Clearly, someone had been feeding Lisa nonsense and sending her in with her mind already made up. Lisa''s expression soured. "Anastasia, my son will marry someone from a good family-someone kind and well-mannered. The kids are too young for this. School needs toe first. We should both keep our children in line before something serious happens."


    With that, Lisa turned on her heel and left.


    Anastasia just stood there, fuming.


    She got in her car and pulled away from the school. She had to get to the Intangible Heritage Studio for a video shoot on bamboo weaving a craft that needed more people to appreciate it.


    Fewer and fewer artisans were left. Only a few elderly folks in rural areas still practiced bamboo weaving, and hardly any young people wanted to learn. The whole tradition was on the brink of disappearing.


    It was slow, painstaking work-handmade, the kind that didn''t fit into today''s high- speed, industrial world. So much heritage had already been lost.


    People went nuts for foreign luxury brands, but the real treasures were the crafts their ancestors left behind.


    Nowadays, bamboo weaving wasn''t just for baskets and household stuff. It was art, it was keepsakes—things you couldn''t buy with money, no matter how much you had.


    As Anastasia drove on, she spotted a familiar figure crouched by the curb at an intersection. It was Juliana, looking like she was in trouble.


    Anastasia hesitated—a part of her wanted to keep driving. But in the rearview mirror, she caught sight of


    Juliana cluteing he ach


    clearly in pain. With a sigh she


    reversed and pulled over.


    She got out and walked over. "What''s going on? Not feeling well? Need a ride to the hospital? Where''s your bodyguard?”


    Juliana never went anywhere without security.


    Juliana''s face was pale, her forehead damp with sweat. Even now, she tried to put


    on a brave front. "I''m fine. Spare me the fake concern."


    She pushed herself up, leaning on the hood of a car, refusing to admit defeat. “I just needed to sit for a minute."


    Anastasia snorted. "You''re like an overcooked turkey-tough on the outside, but that''s about it."


    Juliana''s eyes widened. "What does that even mean?"


    Anastasia shrugged. "All that''s left is your stubbornness."


    “Anastasia, you—” Juliana snapped, but doubled over again, her face even paler.


    "Get in the car. I''m doing my good


    deed for the day. Hospital run, on me." Anastasia grabbed her arm and whipped out her phone, hitting record"Don''t even think about ming me for anything. I''m getting this on video, just in case."


    Juliana had never looked so


    embarrassed. She didn''t want


    Anastasia''s help her price wouldn


    let her but she was hurting too


    ner-but


    much to argue. She let Anastasia


    help her into the back seat.


    Anastasia settled in behind the wheel and headed for the nearest hospital. "Did you


    eat something that didn''t agree with you?"


    "I just had an ice cream,” Juliana muttered, pressing a hand to her stomach. "It hurts, but it''s not that kind of pain.”


    "You''re in this much pain and didn''t even think to call an ambnce or your family?"


    Juliana kept quiet, too embarrassed to admit she''d been in so much pain she couldn''t think straight.