Contact the family and have them kill her again?
Vera Warner couldn't be bothered to play nice with Luna Warner, that phony white lotus. She grabbed her bag and nodded at Mrs. Morgan: "I've noted your request. I'll deliver the gown to your estate in two days. I have other things to handle, so I'll excuse myself."
"Hey—wait, Mrs. Lockwood—"
Mrs. Morgan reflexively tried to stop her, but Vera was already striding away without looking back.
Mrs. Lockwood saw how little Vera cared about her and her face turned sour.
"Oh, come on, Mrs. Lockwood, look—" Seeing Mrs. Lockwood didn't get any special treatment either, Mrs. Morgan actually felt a bit smug.
"It's not like Willow's the only designer in the world!" Mrs. Lockwood shot Luna a cold look, a hint of disdain in her eyes. "But Mrs. Morgan, I have to admit your daughter-in-law's taste really blew me away."
She couldn't stand Vera, but she thought even less of this obviously-shady Luna!
With that jab, Mrs. Morgan remembered Ian Lockwood was chasing Vera Warner, and then looked at the always-delicate, eager-to-please Luna. Her mood inexplicably soured.
"Vera! Stay right there!"
Vera had just reached the private club's entrance when Luna Warner, hurrying after her, blocked her way.
Now that they were out of sight, Luna dropped the gentle, fragile act, her eyes full of disgust and hatred: "What exactly are you after, getting close to Victor?"
Vera almost laughed. She was about to say Victor Morgan wasn't exactly some hotshot worth chasing, but seeing how worked up Luna was, she changed her mind.
Her brows arched up: "You tell me."
Luna nearly bit her gums bloody: "I won't let you get your way!"
Vera let out a snort, giving Luna a look of utter contempt: "But I almost have."
She lifted the corners of her red lips, looking cocky and brazen: "Victor Morgan came to my place last night. Want to guess what happened?"
Her tone was dripping with suggestion, letting Luna's imagination run wild. Luna's face twisted in rage, she wanted to tear Vera apart: "Vera Warner! You—"
"Oh? And what exactly did we do last night?"
A low, indifferent voice suddenly sounded behind Vera, making her break out in goosebumps.
Victor Morgan stepped out from behind a pillar, his cold eyes sharp as knives, locked on her.
Vera curled her lips: "President Morgan, do you have a hobby of eavesdropping?"
Victor's gaze was icy and mocking: "If I didn't, how would I see someone's true colors?"
So this woman really was scheming—using me to get at Luna?
Victor's mood couldn't get any worse. He couldn't decide whether he hated seeing Vera's plotting side, or hated that she'd only gotten close to him for Luna's sake.
As Victor's aura grew colder, Luna's heart leapt with joy, a flash of triumph in her eyes.
She'd noticed Victor's silhouette from the start—she'd baited Vera into saying all that. And now—
The next second, her smile froze.
Victor didn't even spare her a glance; he suddenly swept Vera off her feet and strode away!
By the time Luna came to her senses, the two of them were already gone!
Luna was so mad she wanted to scream. All these years, she hadn't even touched Victor Morgan's sleeve, and yet Vera—
I swear, I'll make her pay with her life!
"Victor Morgan, are you insane?! Put me down!"
Vera, realizing what was happening, struggled in disbelief in Victor's arms. But his grip was like steel, utterly immovable.
Victor wore an icy expression as he dumped Vera into the passenger seat, then drove off.
"Where do you think you're taking me?" Vera frowned, her patience gone. "I was just messing with Luna to piss her off, I'm not interested in you."
Victor laughed furiously: "Is that so? And you think I'd buy that?"
Believe whatever the fuck you want!
Vera was speechless—this was the most egotistical man she'd ever met!
"OK, President Morgan, suppose I really did try to get close to you. Now you know my real face, so can you just stay away from me?"
Victor curled his lips: "Let's have a talk about what happened last night, shall we?"
"..."
This guy is nuts!
Vera was just about to lose her temper when her phone suddenly buzzed—a new message popped up.
It was Zola Morgan, sending her a photo.
When Vera saw what it was, her face went stiff: "President Morgan, you need to step on it and take me home. Now."
Victor glanced over: "You into bringing men home with you?"
Bringing your sister, more like!
Vera sneered, holding her phone up to this dumbass's face: "If we don't go back, those two little devils are going to burn my house down!"
On the road, the sleek black sports car swung an abrupt drift, almost like a pro racer.
Twenty minutes later, Vera stormed through her front door, fuming.
"Chloe Warner! Zola Morgan! Both of you, get out here!"
She looked around—the whole place was choked with thick smoke, eyes stinging.
Vera and Victor hurried to crack open some windows to air things out.
Through the haze, two soot-covered little kids ran out of the kitchen, each holding a charred dish.
Chloe Warner flashed her tiny white teeth on her smudged face: "Mommy, look! I made braised pork!"
Zola Morgan refused to be outdone, raising his plate high: "I made steak!"
This is my own daughter—I can't get mad.
This is someone else's son—I really can't get mad.
They're still just kids.
Vera took three deep breaths, forcing a stiff smile: "Not bad, very impressive, but you two have ten minutes to clean the place up, or else—"
She made a chopping motion across her neck with her palm.
After Vera stormed off and slammed the bedroom door, Chloe Warner nodded gravely: "Mom praised us. We must've really done a good job!"
Zola Morgan rubbed her head, wrinkling her little brows, pretending to be cool: "Mom… doesn't sound like she was praising us, though?"
"You're overthinking it." Chloe was totally unfazed. "She said 'not bad,' 'very impressive.' She was definitely praising us."
Zola tilted her head, thinking it over: "What if Mom says we did a terrible job, though?"
Chloe's big eyes blinked as she grinned mischievously: "A woman never means what she says. When she says bad, she actually means good."
"..."
Victor watched the two little ones, unable to hold back a laugh.
Regardless of everything else, Vera really has a touch with kids—Chloe's playful, clever, got a great attitude.
By comparison, his own son was an airhead he couldn't even bear to look at.
Half an hour later, when Vera heard nothing outside, she finally stepped out of the bedroom.
"Chloe Warner, you—"
She didn't finish, her eyes going wide with shock: "Vi… Victor Morgan?"
The man before her—wearing a hat folded from a newspaper, fighting over a mop with the kids—was that really Victor Morgan?