Chapter 174
Chapter 174:
“I have to share the inheritance with her, Mother,” Vivian whined. “Grandma is already talking about rewriting the trust. Fifty-fifty. It’s not fair! I’ve been here my whole life p>
“She won’t get a dime if she’s humiliated out of the family,” Eleanor said coldly. “Your grandmother values reputation above all else. If Aurora proves to be an embarrassment… a liability… the old woman will cut her loose. Blood or not p>
“How?” Vivian asked. “She’s slick. She acts like she knows everything. She runs Pulse Interactive, for God’s sake. We can’t pretend she’s stupid p>
“We don’t attack her intelligence,” Eleanor corrected, her eyes gleaming. “We attack her breeding. Her class. She may be a CEO, but she’s new money. She’s rough edges and street fights. She doesn’t know our world p>
“The Welcome Gala,” Vivian realized, her eyes lighting up. “Tomorrow night. All of New York society will be there. The press. The board members. The ambassadors p>
“Exactly,” Eleanor nodded. “She grew up in a trailer park. She doesn’t know etiquette. She doesn’t know protocol. We will expose her as an imposter in a silk dress p>
“Does she speak French?” Vivian asked suddenly.
Eleanor laughed. “French? Darling, she probably barely speaks English correctly without slang. Why p>
“The French Ambassador is the guest of honor,” Vivian said, leaning forward. “I’ll make sure the entire menu is in French. The seating cards. And I’ll introduce her to the Ambassador myself. We’ll conduct the conversation entirely in French p>
“Perfect,” Eleanor nodded. “She’ll stand there gaping like a fish out of water. We’ll make her look unrefined. Unworthy p>
Eleanor picked up her phone. “I’m calling the event planner. Tell them to change the menu cards. Strict Francophone protocol p>
Vivian pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. “I’m texting the girls. I’m telling them to prepare for a show. The ‘Trailer Park Princess’ is about to have her debut p>
𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙩 gⲁ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⩶ⅽ𝗈𝗺
The glass door to the solarium slid open.
Aurora walked in. She was wearing a simple black silk shirt and trousers, her hair tied back in a severe ponytail. She looked sleek, modern, and dangerous.
Eleanor and Vivian froze. They forced smiles onto their faces that looked like cracked porcelain.
“Aurora,” Eleanor said, her voice dripping with fake honey. “We were just discussing the gala. We want it to be perfect for you p>
Aurora didn’t answer. She walked to the tea cart. She didn’t ask for a cup. She picked up the teapot and poured herself a cup, her movements fluid and precise. She lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled.
“Darjeeling,” Aurora said. “Second flush. But you’ve steeped it too long. The tannins are bitter p>
She took a sip, grimaced slightly, and set the cup down. “Store-bought quality p>
Vivian bristled. “That tea costs fifty dollars an ounce. It’s imported p>
“Then you were ripped off,” Aurora said indifferently. She turned to look at the garden, her back to them.
Eleanor exchanged a look with Vivian. Arrogant trash.
“We have high expectations for tomorrow night,” Eleanor said, her voice sharpening. “The Kensington name carries weight. We expect you to… keep up p>
Aurora nodded vaguely, looking at a wet rosebush outside. She looked bored. Distracted.