?Chapter 1700:


    Gillian’s gaze flicked to Christina before anything else. Only after catching a faint, approving dip of her head did she extend her fingers and lightly sp La’s palm. “Hello, Miss Wade.”


    “I’ve practically grown up under the roof of the Jones estate, side by side with Bain and the rest of the boys,” La said, her voice edged with intention. “We really ought to spend some time together one day.”


    Gillian’s face betrayed nothing. She took it simply as La hinting at her own ambitions of someday bing Mrs. Jones. “I’d enjoy that,” she answered, offering a reserved, almost bashful smile.


    To Gillian, La came across as pleasantly grounded for someone of her status, without any obvious arrogance. She reasoned that someone so intertwined with the Jones family — and apparently so close to Christina — couldn’t possibly be a bad person.


    La had expected her remark to needle Gillian, to rattle herposure with that subtle provocation. The infuriatingly serene reaction she received instead made her jaw tighten inwardly. This woman was utterly unshakable — not a single flicker crossed her face. Of course, without that level of restraint, Gillian never would have maneuvered herself so neatly into the Jones family’s favor, much less earned Christina’s approval. The more unruffled Gillian seemed, the more convinced La became that she was a calcting fortune-hunter, single-mindedly chasing the position of Mrs. Jones.


    “Such a pleasure meeting a newpanion. Cheers to us,” La said brightly, tapping her ss against Gillian’s before tipping it back and swallowing the wine in one smooth motion.


    Gillian rarely drank, but courtesy left her little choice. She lifted her ss and drained it as well.


    “Now that’s what I call backbone,” La remarked, a sharp, calcting glimmer passing through her eyes. She couldn’t allow Gillian to marry into the Jones family. She couldn’t even tolerate her remaining on the estate. Her thoughts churned wildly, piecing together schemes to bring Gillian down.


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    All at once, a voice she despised sliced through the surrounding chatter.


    “I’m curious what talents you three n to present at tonight’s charity event.” It was Violette, her keen, calcting eyes sweeping over the three women. Instinct told her that the harmony between this trio was nothing more than a thin veneer.


    “That has nothing to do with you,” La snapped, fixing her with a hard stare.


    Violette gave a derisiveugh. “I just hate watching someone humiliate themselves with a performance nobody wants to buy.”


    “Why don’t you worry about your own pathetic show instead of sticking your nose into ours?” La shot back. This year, there were no restrictions on rtives bidding for one another — with the Jones fortune to rely on, they could inte the price no matter howughable the act might be.


    “Feeling bold, are we, Miss Wade?” Violette drawled. “For a moment, I almost forgot your family doesn’t exactly sit at the top of the heap around here.”


    Heat flooded La’s cheeks. “Your family isn’t that far above mine!”


    “Still above you, though,” Violette murmured smoothly.


    La faltered, words catching in her throat. The truth cut deep. The Wades stood beneath the Hewitts, and no amount of bluster could erase that.


    “For someone from the city’s third most influential family, you certainly talk a great deal, Miss Hewitt,” Christina interjected calmly, a note of yful mockery in her voice.


    Now it was Violette who stiffened, color creeping into her face as she scrambled for a reply.


    “Hmph!” La exhaled in triumph, straightening beside Christina with her chin lifted in open satisfaction. This was the version of herself she craved — sharp, untouchable, shielded by the Jones family’s authority so that no one could challenge her. The sensation was intoxicating. She needed to be the wife of the Jones heir to truly im that summit of wealth and power. Then no one would ever make her feel insignificant again, least of all the insufferable Hewitts.


    “Compared to the Jones family, the Hewitts really are insignificant,” Violette conceded atst, her gaze darkening as it locked onto Christina. A slow, calcting smile curved her lips. “Miss Jones — you’re quite daring. Tell me… would you be brave enough to ce a wager with me?”


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