Chapter 49
I coughed, and Harlan snapped him out of it. His eyes roamed over my dress like he wanted to say something.
I looked up, asking, “Aren’t we leaving?”
He tore his gaze away, noticed my wheelchair, and frowned. “Still not healed?”
“Is that a problem, Mr. Shannon? Think I’m embarrassing you?” I said, my tone sharp.
My ankle was much better. Walking carefully wasn’t an issue.
Harlan ignored me and wheeled me out.
I could feel his mood sour, but it wasn’t my problem.
He took me to get styled. During the whole time, he was glued to his phone, probably texting Tamara. I could tell from the smirk on his lips.
Weirdly, I wondered if Tamara could really stomach Harlan showing up with me at the banquet.
As I zoned out, the stylist finished. She looked at me and commented, “Ms. Swope, you’re even more beautiful than the celebrities I’ve worked with.”
Everyone loved compliments, and I was no exception.
I smiled softly. “Thanks for the kind words.”
She waved it off and pointed at the mirror. “Ms. Swope, check it out. Anything to tweak?”
I glanced in the mirror, feeling satisfied.
They didn’t put on too much makeup on me, and they just enhanced my features. The result was stunning.
As I was lost in my reflection, a chilly voice cut in, “You look good.”
I looked up to see Harlan.
He’d already paid and was ready to leave.
We barely spoke on the way. As we neared the entrance, Harlan said, “Watch your temper today.”
I nodded. It was a smart move. Causing a scene wouldn’t benefit me.
At the banquet hall, eyes zeroed in on me like spotlights. Harlan wheeled me straight in.
I noticed Gerald’s face fell when he saw my wheelchair. He was not thrilled, obviously.
I couldn’t blame him, though. No family would want their able–bodied heir to be with a disabled girl.
Marilyn waved Harlan over. “Harlan, come! Your grandpa’s been missing you.”
Harlan obliged, wheeling me toward them. Marilyn’s gaze raked over me, laced with mockery. She said pointedly, “Harlan, the other day I watched a drama about a woman from the streets posing as a wealthy heiress.”
As she spoke, her eyes locked onto me, her smile icy. “I thought the writer was ridiculous. Can’t people tell a real heiress from a fake? The street girl’s sleazy vibe is a mile away. Don’t you agree, Charlene?”
I knew Marilyn was throwing shade. I smiled sweetly and said quietly. “You’re right, Mrs. Shannon. But maybe those wealthy folks just haven’t seen enough street girls. If they can spot the difference, it says more about them, doesn’t it?”
Using TV dramas to mock me, she really thought I wouldn’t catch on.
I had my fair share of TV dramas.
Marilyn could obviously hear the implication in my words. Her face darkened instantly, but she couldn’t blow up, just sneering. “You know quite a bit, Charlene. If you were in a TV drama, you’d be a sharp–tongued one.”
1 smiled and said, “Mrs. Shannon, you’re complimenting my wit, right?”
JA
