“Summer, sweetie!
Daddy’s here to see you!”
Even before Charles Knight appeared, his overly cheerful voice had already filled the villa.
Summer could sense his excitement—but she knew all too well it had nothing to do with seeing her.
He only cared about one thing: finding out what happened to her mother’s inheritance.
A shadow flickered through Summer’s eyes and was gone in a flash.
Within moments, Charles stepped into view.
The instant his eyes landed on Alexander Barron, he froze briefly, then slapped on an obsequious smile.
“Mr.
Barron!
What an honor!
I brought Summer some gifts—and of course, something for you as well.
Just a small token of respect.”
But Alexander looked thoroughly unimpressed.
From start to finish, he didn’t even glance Charles’s way—his expression colder than a winter morning.
The stark contrast between Charles’s eager grin and Alexander’s icy indifference was humiliating, but Charles didn’t dare show it.
The man before him wasn’t just anyone—he was the king of City Q, the head of the Barron Empire.
Someone like Charles couldn’t afford to offend him.
Just then, a low grumble cut through the silence.
Alexander turned toward the sound, a faint trace of amusement glinting in his eyes.
Summer flushed, realizing it was her own stomach.
Embarrassed, she clasped her hands over her belly, her wide dark eyes darting around as if she could pretend it wasn’t her.
“What was that noise?” Alexander asked—though he clearly knew.
“Alright, fine, that was me,” Summer admitted, her voice sweet and a little pleading, the kind that could melt stone.
It went straight to Alexander’s heart.
She’d skipped breakfast that morning making food for him and dealing with Mrs.
Thompson.
Now that things had settled, her hunger had caught up with a vengeance.
Alexander’s lips curved almost imperceptibly.
He gestured lightly.
“Tell Mrs.
Thompson to hurry up.”
A maid scurried off to deliver the message, and Alexander’s sharp gaze returned to Charles.
“Mr.
Knight,” he said, tone clipped.
“Join us for breakfast.”
That “Mr.
Knight” was the most courtesy Alexander would offer someone like him.
“I’d be delighted!
Truly an honor, Mr.
Barron!” Charles nodded eagerly, his face lit with exaggerated cheer.
The maid sent to hurry Mrs.
Thompson was the same one she’d struck earlier with the hot water bottle. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
Back when she first started at the estate, Mrs.
Thompson had bossed her around relentlessly.
She’d tolerated it only because she had no choice.
She’d thought she’d been loyal—but clearly, Mrs.
Thompson never saw her as anything but disposable.
One wrong word, and she’d be cursed or worse.
Now that Mrs.
Thompson had fallen from grace, the maid was more than happy to return the favor.
“Mrs.
Thompson, the lady’s father is here.
Mr.
Barron says serve the food.
Now.”
Mrs.
Thompson, already dragging her feet in the kitchen, scowled at being rushed.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” she snapped.
The maid smirked.
“That’s Mr.
Barron’s order.
Got a problem?
Take it up with him—see if he doesn’t feed you to the fish.”
“You—!” Mrs.
Thompson seethed, face contorted with rage.
The maid didn’t wait.
After delivering the message, she deliberately bumped hard into Mrs.
Thompson’s arm, sending her sprawling to the floor with a heavy thud.
A nasty bruise bloomed on Mrs.
Thompson’ forehead, but the maid just strode away, head high.
Well, Mrs.
Thompson, looks like karma’s here.
Struggling to her feet, Mrs.
Thompson trembled with fury.
She blamed it all on Summer Knight.
If not for her, she’d never be treated like trash by some lowly maid.
But she comforted herself—once her daughter arrived, everything would change.
Once her daughter won Alexander’s heart, Summer Knight would be finished.
The food was soon ready.
With no one willing to help, Mrs.
Thompson had to carry the scalding dishes herself, limping into the dining room with her injured hand.
Eventually, Emma Lane couldn’t just watch.
“Mrs.
But Mrs.
Thompson arrogantly swatted her away.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare trouble the young madam’s favorite.
If you burn yourself, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Summer heard and gently tugged Emma back.
Emma huffed and stepped aside, done offering help.
Summer’s eyes lingered on the bruise on Mrs.
Thompson’s forehead—her gaze unreadable.
She guessed it was the work of one of the many maids Mrs.
Thompson had bullied over the years.
And after that display toward Emma?
Summer had no intention of intervening.
Let the snakes bite each other.
The dining table was quiet—a tense, unnatural calm between Summer and Alexander, while Charles Knight fidgeted nervously.
With Alexander present, Charles didn’t dare mention the inheritance outright.
He could only hope for a moment alone with Summer after the meal.
Just as that thought crossed his mind, his phone rang.
He answered, then exploded: “What do you mean reporters are causing trouble?
Throw them out!
Must I handle everything myself?!”
He hung up furiously, then remembered Alexander and forced a smile.
“My apologies, Mr.
Barron.
My staff are utterly useless.
I didn’t mean to disrupt the mood.”
Alexander gave a slight nod, silent.
Yet from the corner of his eye, he watched Summer.
Her usually calm eyes glinted briefly—a flash of sly satisfaction.
What is my little fox plotting now?
He said nothing, simply observing.
Summer allowed herself a subtle, cold smile.
She knew Grace Hill had carried out her orders.
By now, reporters were likely swarming the Knight villa, grilling Margaret Blake about Charles’s tax evasion.
Let him sweat a little.
I have plenty of time to ruin him and take back the Knight Group—my mother’s life’s work.
But a moment later, Charles’s phone rang again, shattering the fragile silence.
Alexander’s face darkened slightly.
Charles, now utterly irritated, snatched up the phone angrily:
“How many times must I say it—don’t bother me with trivial…!”
But this time, it wasn’t his assistant.
It was Margaret Blake.
And what she said next left him completely frozen, his whole body rigid with shock.