Chapter 565:
She wrenched herself free, trying to keep her voice steady, though the tremor slipped through. “Why panic? Why rush? Sean’s word still counts. This has to be a mistake on the printed list. Maybe they haven’t reached our section yet.”
Her words barely settled before the host’s voice boomed again, final and cold. “The names just read are for the preliminary shortlist for bidding eligibility in the peripheral area of the core region. Now we will list the entities and individuals permanently barred from participating in any Owen Group projects, due to issues in qualifications, integrity, or project alignment.”
He lifted another sheet. His voice struck like a blow, every syllable deliberate. “Deleon Perfumes. Serene Spa. Beautiful Lady…”
Each name was tied to the businesses owned by parents of Connie’s classmates — the very ones who had spun the false bear attack story — now sitting here hoping for shop space.
Zaylee’s face blanched as the truth clicked. Sean had probably never spoken to Felix. Those invitation letters had only been Felix’s way of getting back at her. But before she could dwell on it, Beatrice surged forward, lifting her dress just enough to hurry up the aisle.
“Miss Owen! The staff made a mistake! We’re on the shortlist!” she shouted.
Perla, disguised as a waitress, leaned over Rylie’s table to pour water. Beatrice’s shove sent her stumbling, hot water splashing across her arm. Perla gasped as the glass bottle slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. Rylie’s eyes fixed on her. “Mrs. Cullen, are you alright?”
Perla nodded quickly. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Beatrice shot her a dismissive glance, not sparing a thought for the waitress.
Perla moved to the side so Beatrice could see the Owen daughter clearly. “Miss Owen, your people—”
Chapters live now at ɢⱯ𝓵𝓷σ𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓼.cоm
Beatrice stopped cold. The worry on her face hardened, then shattered in a heartbeat. Her skin lost every trace of color, leaving her pale as paper. A moment earlier, anger and panic had burned through her features, her cheeks flushed crimson. Now she looked like she was staring at a ghost. Her gaze locked on Rylie. The young woman sat at the seat of honor, framed by bright lights and surrounded by the most influential business figures in the room.
This was the same person Beatrice had once accused in the hospital, shouting “murderer” and “you shouldn’t be teaching.” She was the same woman Beatrice had threatened to turn over to the police, swearing she’d see her behind bars.
Wasn’t Rylie supposed to come from a middle-class home?
Just like Zaylee had, Beatrice had thought the Owen family Rylie came from was just an average one, not the wealthiest in the country.
The parents who had come forward with Beatrice froze when they realized who they were looking at.
“Mrs. Truman.” Rylie sipped the tea Perla had prepared. Her tone was calm but carried easily through the room, as if she’d spent her life commanding attention. “You mentioned something about the list being wrong?”
A parent who had arrived seconds after Beatrice stared at her, voice shaking. “H-how could you be the Owen daughter?”
.
.
.