I slammed my palms against the wood. Silence outside. My hand stung from the impact. My foot throbbed with pain.
The room reeked—sour breast milk, dirty laundry and vomit. It was suffocating. I eventually slid to the floor, knees giving out, completely drained.
Then came Nellie’s voice—soft, sugary and fake—muffled through the door.
“Mr. Grant… are you sure this is okay? What if Lucia gets mad at you for this?”
Steven let out a cold laugh. “So what if she does? I’ll sweet-talk her later.”
“Honestly? This is her own fault. If she doesn’t drop that spoiled princess attitude, she won’t last a day married into the Grants.”
“Our family has served in the military for generations. If I weren’t the only heir to the Grant Enterprises, my mother never would’ve let me marry some pampered rich girl with no skills but spending money.”
Nellie’s voice was dripping with fake concern. “Mr. Grant… if you talk about Lucia like that, aren’t you afraid she’ll break off the engagement?”
A pause. Then Steven’s voice came slightly arrogant, “She won’t. She’s got no inheritance, no power, no better options. The Grants are the best she can do.”