69:
Maria reclined back on the sofa, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest as she mulled over her plan. She didn’t care that Anne had stormed off—her daughter always had a way of being dramatic. She’d come around eventually. Anne always did. After all, who could resist the lure of wealth, especially when it came gift-wrapped in someone like Beatrice Romanov? The sound of the front door creaking open made her sit up, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. Eugene was home. She sashayed to the hallway, her hips swaying as she greeted him, "Eugene, darling, you're home! You must be exhausted. Let me get you something." Her voice dripped with sweetness, a stark contrast to the usual tone she reserved for him. Eugene frowned, dropping his briefcase to the floor. "What the hell’s
- Writer
