Her eyes swept over the elegant jade sculptures, antique porcelain, and calligraphy hanging on the walls. Her face darkened with every glance.
“Heh,” she scoffed. “So this is why you had the guts to blow through my card. You must have gotten real good at leeching off your sugar mamas.”
She jabbed a finger at the valuable items.
“How many people did you scam to fill this place up?”
I raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
She stalked over to the coffee table, picked up a blue-and-white porcelain teacup, and scoffed.
“So it’s all for show, huh? A bunch of cheap knockoffs to make yourself look rich?”
“Well, I’ll give you this—it’s a pretty convincing replica. Shame about the glaze though, it's too new. A dead giveaway that it's fake.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Excellent eye, Miss Wright.”
Ironically, it was the only fake item in the house.
But Phoebe thought I was mocking her. Her expression turned even colder.
“Gabriel, I don’t have time to play games with you. Either you repay the five hundred thousand right now and sign these agreements, or the engagement is officially off.”
“If your dream of being a rich househusband shatters, don’t come crying.”