Cortland lowered his head and gently kissed Thalia on the forehead. His voice was slow, almost mocking when he looked at me again.
“To marry me, didn’t you force Thalia to leave? Didn’t you think you were a noble, waving your father’s filthy money around like it was some divine blessing?”
He sneered. “Did you really think I’d be grateful?”
Thalia tugged lightly at his sleeve, her eyes filled with pitiful innocence. “Cortland, please don’t say that… Your wife had a hard time too.”
“Don’t call her that,” Cortland snapped, a cold huff leaving his throat. “Does she even deserve that title?”
I stayed silent, my arms tightening around the urn I held. Slowly, I rose to my feet, my steps unsteady.
Ysabella came over, her eyes filled with disdain and superiority. “Saylor, move out of the master bedroom. Thalia’s not well—she needs peace and quiet. You’re fine with the guest room, right?”
Before I could respond, she went on with her instructions. “And don’t just stand there. Go prepare her miscarriage-prevention medicine in the kitchen. She hasn’t had much appetite lately—remember to add some red dates.”
At that moment, I nearly laughed out loud.