Chapter 131
Elodie’s pov~
“Oh, it’s Mr. Felton p>
Logan’s voice was smooth. He shook Mr. Felton’s hand with that easy charm he’d perfected over the years. “Mr. Felton, are you discussing business with Mr. Gray p>
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Felton said enthusiastically. “Mr. Gray’s company has several projects I’m quite interested in. We’ve been chatting about potential collaborations p>
Logan’s eyes flicked briefly toward Johnny and me, still standing a few paces away.
He didn’t acknowledge us. He didn’t ven nod.
He just turned back to Mr. Felton like we weren’t there.
Mr. Felton, oblivious to the tension, glanced back at us with a slightly puzzled expression. I could see him wondering why Johnny hadn’t come over to join the conversation, after all, networking was half the game in business.
But Johnny stayed rooted beside me, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists.
I didn’t move either.
While Logan and Sienna continued their polite small talk with Mr. Felton, Mrs. Brown, my grandmother, stepped away from the group.
And she walked toward us.
Janice, Sienna’s mother, followed close behind.
Johnny glanced at me, his eyes questioning. Do you want to leave?
I shook my head slightly.
I wasn’t running.
Mrs. Brown stopped a few feet away, her expression soft, almost gentle. “Elodie. It’s been a long time p>
I didn’t respond.
She sighed, her smile faltering just slightly. “Elodie, you p>
Before she could finish, Janice stepped forward, her voice cool. Or pretending to be cool.
“Elodie, no matter how much misunderstanding or resentment you have toward me, it’s between you, me, and your mother. It has nothing to do with Logan or your grandmother. I hope you don’t push away the people who care about you just because of misunderstandings p>
I stared at her. I really stared at Janice Green.
The woman my father had left my mother for.
The woman he’d described as his “ideal lover.” The perfect woman. The one who made him finally understand what “true love” was.
He’d told me once, years ago, that Janice was cold on the surface but good at heart. That she was a proud woman, yes, but a kind one. That I shouldn’t follow my mother’s example and act out, but instead recognize excellence when I saw it.
And Janice had never been cruel to me. Not overtly.
She’d never made my life difficult. Never played the wicked stepmother.
She’d just been… distant. Aloof. Untouchable.
And somehow, that had made it worse.
Because when someone like Janice, someone who acted so composed, so elegant, so above it all, spoke to you with that calm, rational tone, it didn’t feel like manipulation.
It felt like wisdom.
Like maybe you were the problem.
She stood there now, still as stunning and poised as I remembered. Her hair perfectly styled. Her posture impeccable. Her expression firm like she wasn’t trying hard to hurt me. Like she was trying to guide me.
And that made her words cut even deeper.
“The issues between your mother, Logan, and me,” she continued, “should not affect your relationship with your father or your grandmother. They love you. You know that p>
I felt something twist painfully in my chest.
Because part of me, some small, childish part, had wanted to believe that once.
I’d been eight or nine when my parents divorced. Too young to understand the complexities of adult relationships. Too young to see my father for what he really was.
I’d loved them both.
But my heart had leaned toward my mother.
Because she was the one who’d been left behind. The one who’d been hurt.
And I’d felt sorry for her. I’d wanted to protect her.
But I’d also wanted my father’s love. Wanted to believe that he still cared about me. That I mattered to him.
And people like Janice, people who spoke so calmly, so reasonably, it made it easy to believe that maybe I was the one in the wrong.
That maybe if I just tried harder, if I just let go of my anger, everything would be okay.
But I wasn’t that little girl anymore.
So when Logan and my mother divorced and fought for custody, even though my mother, my sweet, fragile mother, had already suffered a mental breakdown, I chose to stay with her.
Despite Logan’s pleas. Despite Mrs. Brown’s tears.
I chose her. But that didn’t mean I stopped loving them.
I kept Logan and Mrs. Brown in my heart. I just never showed it. Because showing it would’ve hurt my mother, and she’d already been hurt enough.
Over a year after the divorce, Mrs. Brown visited the capital.
She arranged to meet me in secret.
I hadn’t seen her in over a year, and I missed her. So I went. I didn’t tell my uncle. I didn’t tell anyone. I just went.
But when I arrived, I realized she hadn’t come alone.
She’d brought Sienna.
Mrs. Brown smiled at me, warmly and gently just like she always did and said we were sisters. That we should get along.
I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want anything to do with Sienna.
But when I hesitated, when I pulled back, Mrs. Brown’s expression shifted. Just slightly. Enough for me to see the disappointment in her eyes.
She said I was too much like my mother. So difficult and unforgiving.
And I felt my heart crack. Because I didn’t want to be difficult. I didn’t want to be the problem.
So I tried.
That day still burned into my memory.
After feeling upset and confused, I excused myself to the restroom. When I came back, I saw Mrs. Brown holding two ice creams, one for me, one for Sienna.
But one of them had been scratched. A waiter had passed by with a dirty tray, and some of the topping had been scraped off. There was an oil stain on the wrapper.
Sienna immediately grabbed the intact one.
Mrs. Brown just patted her head and smiled.
She didn’t replace the dirty one.
She didn’t ask the waiter for a new one.
She just handed it to me when I came back, like it was perfectly fine.
At the time, the Brown family had more money than they knew what to do with. Buying a thousand ice creams wouldn’t have made a dent in their accounts.
But she didn’t replace it.
And in that moment, I understood.
Her feelings for me had already changed.
I would never forget the look in Sienna’s eyes as I stood there holding that dirty ice cream. Smug. Satisfied. Malicious.
Like she’d won something.
Similar things happened with Logan. Those small moments. Little slights. Things that seemed insignificant on their own but added up over time.
And now, standing here in this parking lot, looking at Mrs. Brown’s kind, facade of a gentle expression and Janice’s calm, reasonable face, I felt that old bitterness rise up in my throat.
But I didn’t let it consume me.
I smiled just slightly.
“You say you truly care about me,” I said, trying hard to keep my voice soft and steady so it doesn’t waver. “And I really want to believe that p>
Mrs. Brown’s eyes brightened, hopeful.
I continued.
“But your kind of care, the kind where you help Sienna interfere in my marriage, where you support her relationship with my husband, where you stand by and watch her take everything from me, is that what you call concern p>