“Fattie, why don’t you slow down your eating?” Marcel drawled as he insulted me, his black eyebrows drawing menacingly with his lips quirking up in disgust as I placed another round of food onto my plate.
“Marcel, have some manners,” Hilda chastised, her eyes throwing daggers towards her adopted son. Ever since I sat on the table and ate with Greyson’s relatives, Marcel couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He spewed insults my way in which Hilda would always reprimand him. It wasn’t as efficient as I thought.
“Why did you even bring her, Greyson?” Marcel whined like a five-year-old bully, stomping his feet childishly on the floor, a loud booming sound emanating in the room.
“That’s it,” Hilda interrupted. “You can’t use your gadgets for the whole month.”
“But—“
“No. You need to apologize to
