Nia Mitchell took a deep breath, telling herself not to get angry; it wasn’t worth it.
"Are you truly his fiancée?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Have you been formally engaged?"
Nia Mitchell felt a flicker of fear. If Maxwell Peary really had a fiancée, why would he marry her? Was she truly the mistress, destroying soone else’s happiness? Just like that detestable Beatrice Swan?
"Of course, I am Maxwell Peary’s fiancée," Belinda Swan declared. "If you insist on shalessly staying here, hmph, I will make you understand what unbearable consequences truly an."
Threats. Blatant, undisguised threats.
"Butler Goldsmith!" Belinda Swan called out sharply.
The tension in the living room was palpable. Just then, Frederick Goldsmith erged from the kitchen. When he saw the scene unfolding, his heart sank.
Frederick Goldsmith was on the verge of tears. If heaven granted him another chance, he would either hide in the kitchen and not co out, or he would have opened the door himself and dealt with Belinda Swan directly.
But now, he found himself in the most troubleso situation, caught in the middle of this most vexing predicant.
"Frederick, throw this woman out," Belinda Swan commanded, taking on the air of the lady of the house. She turned and sat on the sofa, a practiced, self-assuredly perfect smile fixed on her face.
Frederick Goldsmith stood there, looking as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t, glancing from Nia Mitchell to Belinda Swan.
What was he supposed to do?
"Butler Goldsmith," Nia Mitchell asked, "is she really Maxwell Peary’s fiancée?"
Unconsciously, Nia Mitchell had already changed how she referred to Maxwell Peary.
Frederick Goldsmith hesitated for a mont, then stood his ground stiffly, wishing ti would pass more quickly and that Young Master Peary would return ho soon.
"Butler Goldsmith?" Nia Mitchell pressed, frowning. Why was he silent? Could it actually be true?
Seeing Nia Mitchell’s expression of utter disbelief, Frederick Goldsmith imdiately waved his hands dismissively.
"No, that’s not true," he said. "Young Master Peary doesn’t have a fiancée."
Over the years, far too many people had tried to associate themselves with Maxwell Peary, but the only one who truly had a connection with him was Nia Mitchell.
Nia Mitchell turned to look at Belinda Swan, who was still seated on the sofa. A smile spread across Nia’s face.
"Now it’s my turn to speak," Nia said, her smile unwavering. "Why are you pestering *my* Maxwell? I know Maxwell has countless wonderful qualities, so many they’re impossible to list, but if he’s not yours, you shouldn’t even dream of coveting him."
Calling him ’Maxwell’ felt good. She decided to use it too, precisely to provoke this woman.
Belinda Swan shot up from the sofa, furious. How dare this little brat speak to her like that!
"Frederick Goldsmith," Belinda Swan snapped, "I suppose you don’t want your job anymore either! What’s so special about this vixen?"
Belinda Swan’s lips curled into a sneer as she looked at them both with cold disdain.
Nia Mitchell lifted her chin defiantly. "I am asking you to leave this place now."
This was her ho, and people like Belinda Swan were not welco. Do all rich won enjoy stealing other people’s n? This woman was probably just like Beatrice Swan, cut from the sa cloth.
"You!" Belinda Swan was seething, but in the next instant, she cald herself down.
"There are rumors circulating today that Maxwell Peary has gotten involved with so promiscuous woman. Such a ridiculous scandal is damaging his reputation! Butler Goldsmith, since Uncle Peary entrusted you to serve Maxwell Peary, you should advise him more diligently. Don’t let just any disreputable woman try to latch onto him."
Butler Goldsmith forced a smile. On his way back today, he had received instructions from Young Master Peary: he was married, and Frederick was to take good care of Mrs. Peary from now on.
As long as Young Master Peary was happy, no one could interfere with his choice of whom to marry, not even the people in the old family estate...
Belinda Swan’s exquisite makeup looked particularly captivating under the lights. Her flawless complexion and the perpetually slight upturn of her lips conveyed an air of arrogant superiority.
Undeniably, though her words were unpleasant, when she simply stood there silently, she possessed an undeniable, striking aura of elegance.
"Are you talking about yourself?" Nia retorted. "The disreputable one who’s trying to cling on?"
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