Seeing Wendy Moore frozen in place, clearly refusing to bow, Grace Scott's patience snapped. All she wanted was to see her humiliated—fast. She strutted over in her high heels, her vividly painted lips brushing close to Wendy's ear, taunting, "Sister, if you don't want to kneel, beg me now. Maybe I'll spare you—if I'm in a good mood."
Wendy clenched her fists, then let out a cold, mirthless laugh. "Grace Scott, I may be down and out, but I'm still the rightful daughter of the Moore family. What about you? If my father hadn't taken you and your mother in, you'd still be hiding from debt collectors! Your real father? A drunk. Mine, out of kindness, paid off his gambling debts. What did that kindness earn him? You and your mother swindled him out of every penny, drove him to ruin, and seized
