Chapter 42: How is life treating you
Meanwhile, in another corner of the country, inside the luxurious suite of a lavish hotel, steam still lingered in the air as a woman stepped out of the bathroom.
Her body was draped in a pristine white robe, posture composed and regal, every movement deliberate as she crossed the polished floor to the table where her phone lay waiting.
The screen lit up at her touch—several missed calls from a familiar number.
Kathrine hesitated, her manicured finger hovering for a moment before she pressed to return the call. Almost instantly, a voice burst through the line, edged with worry.
"Kathrine! Where have you been? Why aren’t you answering my calls?" Roseline’s words came rapid and frantic, her concern spilling through the receiver.
But far from comforting her daughter, it only deepened Kathrine’s irritation.
She strode across the room toward the tall dressing table and lowered herself onto the cushioned stool, her reflection staring back with cold detachment. "Didn’t you tell me to be discreet?" she replied, her voice clipped, edged with ice. "Then why is it suddenly a problem when I don’t pick up your calls?"
Her tone was sharp enough to silence Roseline for a beat. Then, softer, almost pleading, Roseline said, "I know you’re upset about your father’s decision, sweetheart. But you must understand—it’s the only way your father could stop the wedding."
Kathrine’s eyes remained flat, her expression unreadable as she studied herself in the mirror. The weight of her mother’s words only tightened the knot inside her.
’Why? Why would her father suddenly change his mind when everything had been arranged?’
She hadn’t loved Daniel, not truly—but she had agreed to the marriage for the sake of business, for the sake of keeping everything aligned. It was practical, sensible. Then out of nowhere, Hugo had pulled her back.
And in her place, Anna—Anna of all people had been shoved forward to wear her shoes.
"Mom," Kathrine said at last, her voice low but steely, "I don’t know what Dad is planning, but if this continues, I won’t sit by quietly. I’ll have no choice but to return. I can’t keep hiding forever."
Before Roseline could respond, Kathrine ended the call with a swift press of her finger, her patience worn thin.
She had been avoiding her mother for days, ignoring her calls deliberately because she already knew what they would contain. Excuses. Justifications. Empty attempts to pacify her.
But now, her decision was made. She won’t keep away for long, not when things weren’t going her way.
Still, one thought refused to leave her mind.
Her lips curled faintly as her eyes lingered on her reflection, sharp and unyielding. "I wonder, Anna... how is life treating you now that you’re married to my man?"
Her gaze flickered with a mix of disdain and bitter curiosity as she thought of her younger sister—the irrelevant one, the shadow in their family who had suddenly stepped into the light.
***
Meanwhile, Anna, Betty, and Shawn sat huddled inside a modest little restaurant, the cozy clatter of plates and chatter around them a welcome backdrop to their small celebration.
Anna had insisted on treating them. It wouldn’t have been possible without the paycheck from her previous ghost role. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to afford a meal—and enough to let her share a piece of her happiness with the two people who mattered.
As much as Anna’s heart swelled with joy, it was Betty’s enthusiasm that truly lit up the table. She couldn’t stop smiling, her pride in Anna bubbling over in every word, every gesture. Apart from Ethan—who had congratulated her in his usual stoic way—Betty was the only one who seemed to share her excitement wholeheartedly.
And then there was Shawn.
He sat stiffly, shoulders drawn in, more reserved than a cat cooped up too long inside the house. His eyes flickered toward his plate, then away again, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to eat.
"Why aren’t you eating anything, Shawn?" Anna finally asked, her tone gentle but firm enough to pull his gaze back to her.
Betty quickly chimed in, tilting her head in concern. "Yes, Senior Shawn, you haven’t touched a bite. Don’t you like the food?"
Shawn glanced at the two girls staring at him instead of their own plates. With a small shake of his head, he dismissed their concern.
"I am," he muttered curtly, then promptly picked up his chopsticks and began eating, as though that proved his point.
Anna and Betty exchanged a look before breaking into quiet smiles. The small, simple comfort of being together settled around them—until Betty suddenly broke the peace.
"Big Sis, should we order beer? It’s not fun having fried chicken without some cold beer!"
Shawn’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in something close to horror. Before he could voice his disapproval, Anna spoke first.
"Betty, you’re still too young for that," she said, her brows knitting.
Shawn nearly sighed in relief—until Betty puffed up indignantly.
"Big Sis, I’m eighteen. That’s the legal age for alcohol consumption," she chided, sounding like a schoolgirl reciting from a textbook.
Anna hesitated, still uncertain, but Betty leaned forward, clasping her hands together in mock prayer. "Please, Big Sis. Just one glass. I promise! I have really good alcohol tolerance." She raised her hand as though taking an oath.
Betty was confident—too confident, in Shawn’s wary opinion—but Anna wasn’t so sure. She herself rarely drank; the last time she had touched a glass was at Fiona’s birthday party.
Her expression faltered at the memory, shadows flickering across her features. She quickly shook her head, pushing the thought away like a plague she refused to let spread. Some memories were better left buried.
Finally, Anna exhaled, giving in with a reluctant nod. "Fine. But not too much, alright?"
Betty squealed with delight, clapping her hands like a child who’d won a prize. Shawn, however, only lowered his gaze back to his plate and shoved a bite of food into his mouth, chewing stiffly.
He didn’t need to say it aloud—his heavy sigh and the way he gulped his food spoke for him. He already knew where this was heading.
’God please save me’