Chapter 4
1056 Words
A few minutes later, Evelyn stood at the end of a long corridor, facing a small room. The housekeeper, Lydia, dragged her luggage impatiently, shoved the door open, and said gruffly, "This is where you'll be staying from now on. Whenever Master Henry needs you, you'd better be ready to serve." As she spoke, she rudely pushed Evelyn's bags into the room, her tone dripping with contempt.
Evelyn glanced around the modest room, feeling a wave of helplessness but could only accept it silently.
"And remember," Lydia added coldly, her gaze sweeping over Evelyn as if she didn't belong, "the Westwood family has a rule: everyone must have breakfast in the main house at 8 a.m. sharp. Even though you're not officially part of the family yet, Master Henry insists you dine at the main table. You'd better not embarrass him."
Evelyn was slightly taken aback but murmured her thanks. Lydia didn't say anything else, tossing out a curt "Unpack yourself" before turning and leaving.
Standing alone in the cramped room, Evelyn looked at her luggage, her emotions a jumble. So this was her "new life"? Even though she wasn't recognized as a member of the family, she could already feel their rejection.
But she had no choice. For now, she could only comply and avoid making mistakes.
Meanwhile, in the dining hall of the main mansion, members of the Westwood family were gradually taking their seats. At the head of the table sat the elderly yet still imposing patriarch, William Westwood. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight. The main family members were seated on either side of him—the left side occupied by the first branch of the family, and the right by the second branch, where Logan Westwood sat in silence.
The first seat on the left was empty; it belonged to William's eldest son, Edwin, who had died in a car accident three years prior. The seat remained in his honor. Next to it sat Edwin's wife, Madeline, dressed elegantly in a black gown, her expression stern. She exuded the confidence of a woman who controlled everything.
Henry sat beside her, his head slightly bowed, his expression calm. But his fingers were turning pale under the table, betraying his inner tension.
Today was unusual because there would be a new face at the table—Evelyn. As Henry's "newlywed wife," even without an official wedding or marriage certificate, she was arranged to sit on the left side, near Henry. However, the table was already full.
A maid stood nervously on the right side, holding a chair, casting uneasy glances at Logan. She asked softly, "Master Logan, may I place the young madam's chair next to you?"
Logan tapped his fingers lightly on the table without speaking—a silent yes. The maid breathed a sigh of relief and quickly set the chair next to Logan, in the second seat on the right, directly opposite Madeline.
A sly smile tugged at the corner of Madeline's lips. She spoke slowly, her voice laced with sarcasm, "How interesting, placing her across from me as if she's my equal. Those in the know understand she's Henry's woman; those who don't might think she's your fiancée, Master Logan."
Logan gave a faint smile, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip before finally looking up, his gaze icy. "Those who know understand there's no room left at the table. Those who don't might mistakenly think someone's feeling a bit insecure."
Madeline's face darkened. She retorted coldly, "Are you implying I can't tolerate her?"
Setting down his cup, Logan replied nonchalantly, "You're the one who said it, aren't you?"
Madeline clenched her teeth, about to speak when William slammed his cup down, cutting off the undercurrents of their exchange. "Enough. Breakfast isn't the time for squabbling. When she arrives, she sits. If she's late, the chair goes, and she eats with the staff."
The entire table fell silent instantly. A flash of worry crossed Henry's eyes. He said softly, "Grandfather..."
William raised a hand to stop him, his tone calm but firm. "Henry, without a marriage certificate, she's not officially part of the Westwood family. Allowing her at the main table is already an exception for you."
Henry could only nod silently, a hint of resentment flickering in his eyes. Under the table, his hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening from the pressure.
A brief silence settled over the table, the air thick with tension. Henry stole a glance at Madeline across from him. Her expression remained icy, seemingly unbothered by the earlier exchange. But Henry knew she was seething inside. The rift between mother and son had long been growing, and today's confrontation was just another chapter in their ongoing cold war.
His gaze shifted subtly to Logan, meeting his perpetually cold eyes. Logan's face showed no emotion, but Henry knew that last night's events had already aroused his suspicions. He could feel Logan's gaze like a sharp blade, attempting to cut through his calm façade and expose his plans.
After a moment of silence, Logan suddenly stood up, his tone indifferent. "Sir, I'm stepping out for a smoke."
William grunted, frowning. "Don't wander off before the meal. Come back when you're done."
Logan nodded, his eyes briefly sweeping over Henry's face with a meaningful smile before turning to leave the table, heading toward the garden outside.
Henry relaxed his clenched fists slightly, but the tension within him didn't fully dissipate. Logan's reaction left him uneasy. Was last night's incident truly an accident, or had he inadvertently stepped into one of Logan's traps? He had always known Logan to be exceptionally shrewd and ruthless. If Logan had seen through last night's events, things were about to get much more complicated.
Madeline cast a cold glance at Henry, speaking softly, "Henry, you should start looking out for yourself. Relying on others will cost you someday."
He didn't respond to his mother's words, lowering his eyes to mask the turmoil within. He knew she had never truly cared for him; her only concern was her own status and interests within the family. Evelyn's arrival was nothing more than another pawn in her power games.
At this moment, he was orchestrating something that went beyond just countering his mother—it was a game he had to win.
- Writer
