<b>Chapter </b><b>343 </b>
A Rolls–Royce. They actually switched <b>to </b>a Rolls–<b>Royce</b><b>. </b>
Summer’s thoughts drifted to her upbringing within the Davis household. She lived <b>there </b>for over <b>a </b>decade. Her foster father had always stuck to that old Santana<b>, </b>no matter where he went<b>, </b><b>the </b>same beaten–up car. Despite the family’s wealth, he paraded around with a frugality that bordered on miserly.
Now, he changed. The moment his biological daughter returned, he couldn’t wait to swap it out for a Rolls–Royce. This was really a double standard.
Feeling an unprecedented sense of injustice, Summer simmered with resentment. Before the mix–up was discovered, she never got to bask in the luxurious lifestyle deserved by a tycoon’s daughter. Why should everything change with the return of the blood–rted child? Was she not their daughter before?
Biting her lip hard, Summer tried to contain the surge of unfairness, but the image of her father driving that luxury car yed on a loop in her mind. She grew more pitiful with each pass, until tears cascaded down uncontrobly.
Her assistant, noticing Summer’s sudden outburst, panicked and hastily fumbled for a tissue from her bag. “Summer, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” she asked.
But as she reached out, Summer swatted her hand away fiercely. “Back off! Just leave me alone, all of you.”
The assistant, taken aback by Summer’s sudden re–up, stood frozen in shock. Watching Summer crouch and sob, she wanted to offerfort but hesitated, recalling the harsh rejection.
She didn’t understand the cause of Summer’s emotional breakdown, but how different was this from the two–faced celebrities they often encountered in the industry?
The assistant only lowered her gaze, she had seen this act before.
Minutester, Summer stood up, donned her sunsses to hide her eyes, took a deep breath, and murmured an apology to her assistant, “Sorry for that… I lost myposure.”
With a weak smile, the assistant simply shook her head. “It’s okay. Let’s get in the car. There are too many onlookers, and it’s not good for your image.”
Without another word, Summer wiped her cheeks and slid into the car. The assistant followed suit, ncing at Summer before suggesting, “Why don’t you just go home and rest today?<i>” </i>
Summer leaned back in her seat, and it took her a while to reply, “No need. I’m fine now.”
The assistant decided to drop the subject.
Neale, in another vehicle.
Muabe was engrossed in her phone, ying around, when a message from Niki popped up on Messenger, She pressed at the bridge of her nose, sensing this wouldn’t be pleasant. After a while, she finally opened the message.
Nikdat. (You know how to make incense, right?)
Squinting her eyes, Mirabe recalled thest time she concocted a medicine. Niki had been keen to ascist her, and now he was asking about incense–making. What sort of mischief was be up to now?
Her response was swift (No, I don’t
Nikk (You must. The Incense of Calm for James was your doing.]
A wry smile tugged at Mirabe’s lips as she typed back emotionlessly: [You’re mistaken. That was purchased online.
Niki: (impossible. The herbs were bought from me.)
Mirabe sent back a series of emojis, feeling exasperated. The audacity of some people nowadays!
She nced out the window<i>, </i>tempted to block him<b>. </b>Her phone buzzed again<b>. </b>
Niki I know everything.]
With a sense of resignation, Mirabe stared at the screen. Her fingers slowly crafted a reply: (Knowing too much can be hazardous to your life, old man.)