?Chapter 239:


    “What?” Finnegan exploded. “You call that reasonable?”


    “This is outrageous!” She cried, her voice cracking with disbelief. “You’re just humiliating us!”


    Christinaughed, sharp and cold. “Humiliating you? Oh, please. When you all took turns stepping on me, mocking me, and excluding me, was that not humiliation? Or is it only humiliation when it happens to you?”


    Back then, their cruelty had been tenfold worse, and yet, they’d never batted an eye. Now, after receiving only a fraction of that treatment, they whined like children.


    Joselyn scoffed, turning her head away. “We’re not doing it. You can forget it.”


    But Christina paid no heed to their posturing. Pretending to be tough before her was futile. She gave a nonchnt shrug. “Alright, then I hope you enjoy the view from outside the gates.” She turned toward the lead security guard, clearly about to give the order.


    “Christina, did you really have to push this so far?” Brendon’s voice softened, thick with honeyed gentleness, his gaze lingering with an intensity that could melt hearts.


    Caught off guard, Christina paused briefly before her smile sharpened into icy resolve, bitterness rising within her chest. This was the first time Brendon had regarded her with tenderness—a gaze once reserved only for Ynda. The more she reflected, the more absurd it felt. What Ynda received effortlessly was something Brendon had to be cornered into granting her.


    Christina wasn’t tricked. Brendon’s sudden tenderness was nothing more than ast-ditch performance—an old trick wrapped in pretty words and seemingly affectionate eyes. He thought he could soften her resolve with that mock lovesick gaze, as if all the years of silence, betrayal, and humiliation could be erased by a few carefully chosen lines. What foolish fantasy had he trapped himself in? Did he really think she was still the same Christina—the one who used to crave even the smallest crumb of affection from him? No. That woman was long gone. If Brendon wasn’t willing to pay the price now, then he could take his family and forget about rubbing shoulders with the elite.


    Misreading Christina’s silence as wavering, Brendon’s heart fluttered with hope—perhaps his act had cracked her resolve. “Christina, between us—”


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    “Enough,” Christina said sharply, slicing through his words like a knife through silk. “Spare me the theatrics. We’re done talking.”


    Her gaze swept across Brendon and his crew—each face marked with fury, embarrassment, and shame. She drank it in like the finest wine. “Two ps each,” she said, her voice calm, almost cheerful. “Put your backs into it. Halfhearted ones won’t count. No do-overs. No mercy. This is your one shot to impress me. Only when I’m satisfied with those two ps will you earn the right to stay for the party. Otherwise, one failed attempt, and you’ll all be out of here—cars, your asses, reputations tossed to the curb. Tomorrow’s headlines will feast on your disgrace.”


    Brendon stood frozen, the remnants of that forced tenderness now clinging to him like shame. He had actually believed that a soft look and a few sweet words would sway Christina—that the Christina he once knew would resurface at his bidding. He almostughed at himself. She hadn’t even batted an eye at his pathetic act. The Christina standing before him now was a different force entirely. Cold. Controlled. Unshakable. Back then, all it took was a breadcrumb of kindness, and she’de running. But now? Now, she was slipping from his grip like sand, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.


    “I’ll count to three…” Christina dered, indifferent to Brendon’s and his crew’s reactions, beginning immediately. “One. Two—”


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