?Chapter 43:


    “Ynda, you need to get here now! Brendon is seriously wounded!” Katie’s voice crackled with panic on the phone.


    “Alright. Which hospital?” Ynda asked, cool andposed. “I’ll be there shortly.”


    After jotting down the address, Ynda ended the call. Her face remained expressionless as she crossed one leg over the other and took a slow sip of red wine. “What a nuisance,” she muttered, irritation creeping into her voice as she rose from the plush couch.


    If Brendon weren’t her only lifeline right now, she wouldn’t have bothered to check on him. Still, she needed to see for herself how serious his condition was. If things had taken a turn for the worse, it could throw everything off track.


    Meanwhile, Christina sat alone in the backseat of a sleek ck car, the interior silent except for the hum of the engine.


    “Did Mr. Scott say what this was about?” she asked the driver calmly.


    “Mr. Scott didn’t mention anything,” the driver replied with practiced politeness. “He only instructed me to bring you over. He’ll join you once he’s done with work.”


    “I see,” Christina said softly, closing her eyes and leaning back to rest. Her phone, set to silent,y untouched beside her. She hadn’t noticed Brendon’s repeated calls.


    The car eventually rolled to a stop in front of an elegant estate. Christina opened her eyes just as the driver stepped out and opened the door with courteous precision.


    “Miss Jones, we’ve arrived,” the driver said with a respectful nod.


    “Thank you,” she replied, stepping out into the warm evening air.


    Christina was ushered into the mansion, where a servant immediately approached her.


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    “Would you care for some coffee or juice, Miss Jones?” the servant asked, her voice soft but formal.


    “Coffee would be nice, I’m not picky—whatever’s avable is fine,” Christina answered.


    “Right away,” the servant said, bowing before walking off.


    As Christina nced around the elegant interior, she couldn’t help but notice the staff’s demeanor. Every movement was polished, every word measured. The Scott family clearly ran a well-disciplined household.


    A few minutester, the servant returned with a porcin cup on a silver tray. “Please enjoy,” she said, cing it gently on the table before stepping back.


    Christina took a sip, savoring the warmth, then looked up. “This ce. It belongs to Dn, doesn’t it?”


    The servant nodded, gaze lowered. “Yes.”


    “Did he say when he’d be arriving?” Christina asked, her tone calm but curious.


    “No,” the servant replied, hands neatly folded in front of her. “Mr. Scott only instructed us to ensure you’re well taken care of.”


    Christina gave a courteous nod. “Thank you. That’ll be all for now. You may continue with your work.”


    “Of course. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask,” the servant responded with quiet professionalism.


    “I appreciate it,” Christina said warmly.


    “This is our responsibility. Please enjoy your coffee,” the servant remarked, retreating with graceful steps before turning and leaving the room.


    Christina leaned back in her seat, quietly impressed by how seamlessly the staff carried themselves. Their poise, precision, and training spoke volumes about the Scott family’s standards. There was no doubt—the Scotts were powerful, wealthy, and deeply rooted in tradition.


    She couldn’t help but wonder—if the Scott family’s operations were this tightly controlled, what must their traditions and expectations be like behind closed doors? Anyone marrying into a family like the Scotts would likely have to abide by strict etiquette, hidden rules, and unspoken obligations.


    To outsiders, marrying into the Scott family might look like a fairy tale—luxury, power, prestige. But beneath the surface? Sacrifices. Silence. And a life that might never feel like her own.


    Taking another slow sip of her coffee, Christina let the warmth settle. It was rich and smooth, the vor lingering delicately on her tongue. Undoubtedly, it was one of the best cups she’d had in a while.


    She beamed. Divorce had given her more than freedom—it had given her rity. She had no regrets about walking away from marriage and no desire to walk back into one, especially not into a gilded cage like the Scott family.


    Anyway, she had carved her own path. She had wealth, reputation, and independence. She didn’t need anyone’s name or status to validate her ce in the world.


    Yet, there were still those who whispered behind her back, thinking she was just another woman trying to marry rich, wing her way up from the bottom. The thought made her lips curl into a faint, amused smile. If only they knew.


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