Celestine glanced toward the door, where Dahlia stood radiating hostility.
“You little tramp! My son still hasn’t woken up, and yet you have the nerve to rest?”
Luther’s brow furrowed. “Celly’s been injured too. How can you talk to her like that?” “Mr. Selwyn, I still respect you as an elder, so here’s some advice–don’t meddle! Celestine is still the Fordham family’s daughter–in–law. Once a daughter’s married off, she’s no longer your concern. Spare yourself the worry.”
Dahlia strode into the hospital room, her gaze sweeping over everything. Her eyes landed on the expensive nutritional supplements on the table, and she sneered under her breath, “Trying to keep up appearances, huh?”
Sensing her grandfather’s distress, Celestine reached for his arm and faced Dahlia with icy calm. “What do you want?”
“What do I want? I want to see you dead!” Dahlia shot her a venomous glare.
This wretched girl just wouldn’t die, would she? Somehow she’d clawed her way back from the brink–so why was her own son still unconscious? The more Dahlia thought about it, the angrier she became.
“If you’re not dead, then pack up your things and get back home to take care of Chester!”
“Dahlia, that’s enough!” Luther’s temper spiked; his blood pressure was practically
audible.
Celestine quickly pulled him aside, tossed off the bedsheet, and stepped forward to
confront Dahlia.
“Chester and I are divorced. I have no obligation or responsibility to care for him.”
Dahlia scoffed. “Divorced? My son’s still in that hospital bed, so don’t you dare talk to me about divorce. Listen to me, Celestine: your only duty right now is to look
after Chester!”
Luther had spent a lifetime in the arts, but he’d never encountered someone as
insufferable as this woman.
“Then call the police and have me arrested,” Celestine shot back, utterly unafraid.
“Oh, is that so? You think I can’t handle you?” Dahlia snapped, fumbling in her bag
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and yanking out a thick stack of paperwork. “Here. Three million dollars! That’s what the Selwyn family borrowed. Don’t even think about denying it–Luther, your signature is right here on every page!”
At first, Celestine felt the blood drain from her head. She lunged forward and snatched the papers from Dahlia’s grasp.
The contracts were all there, black ink on white paper, with Luther’s signature at the bottom. But on closer inspection, the handwriting looked suspicious–almost like someone had traced it.
“That’s impossible! Someone must have forged my grandfather’s signature!”
“Impossible? The evidence is right in front of you!” Dahlia’s voice was sharp as a knife. “Let me lay it out for you: either you go take care of Chester, or you pay up! As far as I know, the Selwyn family’s assets don’t even come close to covering this debt. Can’t pay? Then your grandfather can rot in jail!”
Clutching the so–called debt contract, Celestine felt a cold despair settle in her
chest.
Now was not the time to go head–to–head with the Fordham family. If she misstepped, even Clifton’s last scraps of guilt would evaporate.
Celestine knew when to bend and when to stand tall.
“My grandfather never signed these papers. Do you know who did?”
“How should I know?” Dahlia snapped. “The Fordham Group handles too much business in a year for me to check every contract. And don’t even think about trying any tricks–I already checked. When your family signed, they left a keepsake as collateral.”
With that, Dahlia reached into her pocket and pulled out a red crescent–shaped pendant.
Luther’s composure shattered. “How did you get that pendant?”
Years ago, he’d had two sons, Murdock and Melvin. The blood–red pendant was a family heirloom–split in two, one half for each brother. After Celestine’s father died, one half vanished, while the other remained with Murdock. But just a few years ago, Murdock had told him the pendant had gone missing during a move.
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Luther was absolutely livid.
