If you treated me well, I’d repay it tenfold. But if you tried to take advantage of me? Well, don’t expect mercy.
Finally, Oliver, Anthony’s father, who had been sitting at the head of the table, spoke. His voice was sharp, his gaze cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Then tell me, how much betrothal money do you want?"
I lowered my spoon and fork with a calm expression and spoke without hesitation.
"Not much. Just 88,000 dollars, the same last digits as Amelia’s."
Zora’s eyes went wide in surprise. She shot up from her seat, fury spreading across her face.
"That’s not much? Are you trying to bleed us dry? You can have 8,800 dollars, but 88,000? Absolutely not!"
She snapped her head away, her gaze fixed stubbornly elsewhere, unwilling to meet my eyes.
Amelia, who had been tightly wound the entire evening, finally reacted. She shot me a cold glare, her voice dripping with reproach.
"Aurelia, what’s this nonsense? Is this how you speak to your elders?"
I stood, about to fire back, but Anthony’s hand caught mine, halting me.
He shook his head, silently urging me to stay silent and not escalate things with his sister.