Clara was well aware of their game, but with her grandma’s surgery so urgent, she had no choice but to tolerate their behavior.
After dinner, she finally came across Dylan. He looked utterly worn out and smelled strongly of alcohol from all his work-related stress. He gave Clara a brief pat on the shoulder and mumbled, “Get some rest,” before heading into his study room.
Feeling drained, Clara went to bed early. Later that night, she woke up feeling parched. As she headed to the kitchen for a drink, she noticed something odd—voices drifting from Dylan’s study room.
She paused outside the door and could barely make out three people talking inside. Even though they were whispering, she heard her name.
Emily’s voice was clear and sharp. “Dylan, are you really considering giving that foundation to Clara? Remember what happened a decade ago.”
Eavesdropping outside, Clara thought, A decade ago? That’s when Mom and Dad were killed in that mysterious car crash, and Uncle Dylan exploited the situation.
She figured Emily was about to spill some secrets about her parents. Curiosity got the better of her, so she crept closer and listened intently at the door.
When Dylan remained silent, Emily’s tone grew more intense. “Dylan, even if the foundation isn’t as crucial as the Bennett Enterprise, you wouldn’t have it if I hadn’t stepped in. Remember how Julian and his wife had that sudden crash?”
Then, Emma’s voice piped up, sounding pretty upset. “Dad, didn’t you say you were going to give the foundation to me as part of my dowry?”
“Rest assured, I’m not handing over the foundation to her. I just made a temporary promise,” Dylan replied. He was reluctant to give up the foundation but wasn’t ready to explain why.
The conversation shifted to other topics, but Clara couldn’t focus on anything else. Her mind was racing with what she had just overheard. She thought, Mom and Dad’s misfortune wasn’t just an accident. Uncle Dylan must have set it all up!
Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she bit her lip hard enough to bruise. Clara tightened her fists, letting the sting help her control her fury before returning to her room.
As she went, she thought, So, it looks like fate brought me back to this city to settle the score!
The wedding was set for a month later, on the weekend. Even though it was more of a formality, Emily spared no effort to ensure everything was perfect. She ensured every detail was meticulously arranged to avoid gossip about abusing her niece, including Clara’s custom-made wedding dress by an international designer.
Thanks to her radiant beauty and perfect bridal makeup, Clara looked fabulous as she walked down the aisle.
“I heard she’s been away from the city for a decade, yet she comes across as a refined socialite rather than just a mere heiress…”
As one of the bridesmaids, Emma overheard this and got annoyed. She snapped, “Seriously? Dressing up as a commoner doesn’t make her royalty. Comparing her to a real one is laughable.”
Not missing a beat, Clara smiled and replied, “It’s no surprise. Sometimes, people pretend to be something they’re not. Pretty funny, right?”
Realizing Clara was taking a jab at her, Emma scowled and threatened, “You think you can make fun of me? I’ll score your face so you can’t marry!”
“If I don’t get married, then you’ll be the one stuck with the Goodman Family,” Clara shot back, clearly enjoying the moment.
Emma’s face turned red with anger. She raised her hand to retaliate, but Dylan stepped in and stopped her. “What’s going on here?”
Emily quickly pulled Emma away, and Dylan turned to Clara with a friendly smile. “Don’t worry about the Goodman Family. I’ve arranged your grandma’s surgery for next week, and I’ll hand over your dad’s stuff tomorrow,” he reassured.
Inside, Dylan mused, In a week, everything will change, and you won’t have any way to escape. He smirked to himself, satisfied with his plans.
Clara noticed the look in his eyes and thought, Uncle Dylan, your plans are comprehensive. Later, she queried, “When’s the groom getting here?”
“Mr. Goodman’s too ill to attend, but Mr. Blake will come to pick you up. It’s just a formality; the main thing is that the groom is Michael Goodman,” Dylan replied coolly.
Clara shrugged off his words. She didn’t care about the groom’s arrival or appearance.
When Clara was ushered into the wedding suite, she felt regretful. The room was packed with wooden mannequins in various outfits, and the dim lighting made them look downright creepy.
Is Michael Goodman into some weird stuff? Clara barely had a chance to think before someone grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth.
The sensation was almost as terrifying as the incident in the hospital, and she began to feel overwhelmed.
It was Michael. He had just walked out of the training room and was surprised to find an unfamiliar girl in his space. Reacting swiftly, he restrained Clara, who was now panting heavily.
“Who… Who are you?” Clara stammered.
Michael’s eyes narrowed with a cold intensity as he responded, “I should be asking you that.”
“I’m Clara… Bennett, the bride… marrying… Michael Goodman today,” she replied, her voice trembling.
The mention of her name seemed to snap Michael back to reality. He loosened his grip and remarked more calmly, “You’re not really fit to be my wife.”
So, this is Michael Goodman, the guy I’m supposed to marry? Clara thought, still stunned.
Now free, she stared at Michael in disbelief as she noticed he was standing easily. “Your leg?! You’re not sick at all! You can stand up!”
Wait, this doesn’t add up, Clara thought.
Then she caught a whiff of traditional medicine. With a frown, she asked Michael, “Are you poisoned?”
Growing up studying traditional medicine, she was familiar with the smell of herbs. She could identify Frostbite Serpentleaf, Earthbound Reishi, Twilight Groundflower, and Eternal Blossom—all used for detoxifying.
Eyeing her with suspicion, Michael immediately reached for her neck again. “Who sent you? Benjamin Goodman or someone else?””
He pondered, I never wanted this marriage, but Grandma threatened me. Even though it was set up years ago, it’s possible someone from the primary branch sent her to spy on me.
Is this guy a psycho? Clara wondered as she struggled.
As her fingers accidentally brushed his pulse, she started to calm down and explained, “No one sent me. I’m not here to hurt you, and I can actually help with the poison.”
Michael’s expression changed slightly at her words. Noticing Clara’s suffocated face, he released her.
“I felt your pulse earlier. It was weak and irregular,” Clara explained, recognizing the signs from her studies.
Then, she hesitated and added, “But…”