Chapter 22
The moment her piercing gaze locked onto me, I felt the air shift, heavy with her brewing disdain.
Gritte stormed toward me, her movements sharp and deliberate, a predator zeroing in on its prey.
I instinctively stepped back, trying to avoid the confrontation, but she blocked my path with a swift, calculated motion.
Before I could utter a word, she shoved me forcefully, sending me stumbling backwards.
A hushed gasp rippled through the room as every eye turned toward us.
“How dare you reject my brother, Rachel!” Gritte‘ s voice rang out, venom dripping from every syllable.
“Who do you think you are? Do you even realize how lucky you were that we were
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willing to take you back? And yet, you arrogantly rejected us like we‘ re beneath you!”
The sharpness of her words sliced through the silence, leaving a sting that settled deep in my chest.
Her anger filled the room, drawing everyone’s attention like moths to a flame.
I steadied myself, forcing a calmness that belied the turmoil within me.
I thought marriage was supposed to unite two families, a bridge between lives, hopes, and dreams.
So, when I accepted the offer to marry Gale, I genuinely believed I was finally gaining the family I had longed for since. childhood.
But the reality was far from what I had
envisioned.
No matter how much I gave, no matter how
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hard I tried, it became painfully clear that I was never truly accepted by the Douglas family. I was tolerated, but never embraced.
Reflecting on those four years, I realized how much strength it had taken to survive. in a house that never felt like home. I could not help but feel a small sense of pride for enduring it all.
“That’s enough, Gritte,” I said evenly, my voice low but firm, “This isn’t the place for your theatrics.”
“Theatrics?” she snapped, her eyes blazing. “How dare you say that to me! We gave you everything, status, wealth, a chance to live among us. And this is how you repay us?”
Her voice grew louder, each word cutting deeper as the whispers around us. intensified.
Some onlookers exchanged smug smirks, reveling in my discomfort. Others
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murmured quietly, pity evident in their glances.
I retorted, my voice steady but sharp enough to cut through the tension. “Four years of enduring your contempt, your family‘ s indifference, and your brother‘ st obsession with someone else, was that your idea of generosity?”
“You’re ungrateful!” Gritte took a step closer, her face twisted with fury.
She raised her hand to slap me. But that time, I was ready. I caught her hand mid- swing, holding it firmly.
“Stop this,” I said quietly, meeting her gaze. “You‘ re embarrassing yourself.”
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