Chapter 361: Chapter 361



Joelle harbored a nagging suspicion she couldn’t shake. “Is that so?” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the road, yet her thoughts were elsewhere.

Katherine, noticing Joelle’s distraction, turned to Aurora. “Is Ms. Becker like that with the other children too?”

“Not really!” Aurora boasted, a hint of pride in her voice. “She only stays with me during nap time. She doesn’t even go to the others if they cry.”

Katherine raised an eyebrow, amused. “Really? And why do you think she favors you so much?”

Aurora paused, thinking back. “One time, during sports day, I bumped into her in the hallway when I was getting something from the classroom. She told me I was the first kid she met here, so she feels special about me!”

“Okay,” Katherine murmured, glancing at Joelle. “Seems like there’s nothing wrong.”

Joelle muttered a noncommittal sound, her concerns clearly not alleviated. Aurora, keenly perceptive for her age, picked up on the undercurrents. “Why are you asking about this?” Her astuteness was startling.

Katherine managed a strained smile. “Nothing serious. We just love hearing about how much she cares for you.”

Assured, Aurora launched into a lively account of all the kind things Eliza had done for her.

Meanwhile, at the Miller Mansion, Amara wielded her vindictiveness like a weapon. On this particularly frosty day, she demanded a violinist play barefoot on ice, each misstep in the performance met with a command to restart the grueling half-hour solo. Since Joelle was a violinist, Amara took out her resentment towards Joelle on the woman before her.

The sound of the violin screeched, distorted and harsh, slicing through the cold air. It was the signal to begin anew. Unable to tolerate the biting cold any longer, the violinist staggered off the ice, clutching her frostbitten feet in agony. Callan, unable to watch any longer, was about to intervene on the woman’s behalf, but Amara flung a stack of cash towards the violinist. “Continue playing, and all the money here is yours.” The violinist’s eyes sparked with desperate greed, and she returned to her icy tormentor, her violin ready.

Callan reluctantly held back his objections.

“Ma’am, this area is off-limits!”

“Step aside!”

Raelyn’s commanding voice cut through the air, causing a stir in the courtyard. From the window, Amara observed Raelyn being obstructed by her staff.

“Amara! Come out if you dare and face me yourself! Why cower like a frightened animal?”

Amara’s temper flared. Was she to be intimidated by someone who used to be a waitress? As she moved to confront Raelyn, Callan interjected, “Mrs. Miller, please allow me to manage this. It’s not worth your energy.”

“Out of my way!” Amara snapped, her patience thinning. “Mrs. Miller! Your son doesn’t want you to cause any more trouble!”

Incensed, Amara threw the contents of her wine glass in his face. “And why should I obey him? Remember who you truly serve!” She gestured sharply to the nearby bodyguards, signaling them to restrain Callan.

Brushing past the chaos she instigated, Amara advanced with an imperious air, her dress flowing majestically behind her. “Raelyn Sampson, what is your purpose here?” Raelyn surveyed her coolly. “Tell me, was it you who orchestrated the attack on Joelle at the mall?”

“So what if I did? How is that your concern?”

Raelyn closed the distance between them in a few determined steps, seizing Amara by the collar. “It matters because I cannot tolerate your cruelty. Joelle matters to Adrian, and anyone who matters to him is under my protection. Let’s see who dares harm her now.”

“Remember this—Adrian is a Miller, my son! And you? You’re nothing but a former servant. Do you really think you’ve become more than that?”

“Your son, really?” Raelyn scoffed, her disdain evident. “Do you think Adrian wouldn’t recognize me as his mother if I wanted to?”

Amara’s face contorted with rage, her voice dripping with contempt. “You despicable woman! You slept with my husband, took my money, and now you have the audacity to claim a right to my son?”

“I slept with your husband? Who was it weeping at my doorstep, begging me to sleep with him because you were barren?”

“Bitch!” Overcome with fury, Amara swung her hands in a wide arc, aiming for Raelyn’s face. But luxury had dulled her reflexes, and she was no match for Raelyn, hardened by her adventurous life.

“Ah!” Amara cried out as she fell. Realizing her physical disadvantage, she shrieked for her bodyguards. Even as guards converged around her, Raelyn held fast, her hand twisted in Amara’s hair, her voice low and threatening, each word a deliberate puncture.

“I’m warning you, Amara, I never wanted to contest you for Adrian, but your mistreatment speaks volumes. If I were Adrian, I would never recognize you as my mother. Soon enough, Adrian and the entire Miller legacy will acknowledge me—not you. Do you think you still command the Miller family? Think again! I bore the true heir to the Miller family. What claim do you hold? Once your husband passed, your link to the Miller family all but vanished. You ought to be thankful Adrian hasn’t disowned you, yet here you are, tormenting his loved ones in his absence?”

Amara, who cherished her love with her husband, felt each word as a stab to her core. She gasped, covering her mouth with trembling hands, her body folding as if struck.

After Raelyn stormed off, Callan hurried to assist Amara, offering her a glass of water and helping her to sit. Amidst her sobs, which had rendered her nearly voiceless, Amara’s grief turned to rage. “Kill her! I want her dead!”

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