Chapter 230

Margaret Evans hadn't gone shopping in ages.

Today's exception was made when a boutique sales consultant called, informing her about newly arrived limited-edition handbags and custom couture. They'd reserved a private appointment slot just for her.

Unexpectedly, she ran into Chloe Valentine at the store.

Since they'd crossed paths, they naturally browsed together.

This time Chloe proved more considerate. She promptly swiped her card for several limited-edition bags Margaret fancied.

Though it was Nathan Evans' supplementary card, it still beat last time's measly scarf gift.

They wandered into a high-end couture boutique.

The sharp-eyed sales associate instantly recognized Margaret as a regular. "Madam, these just arrived. They'd complement your elegance perfectly."

Margaret wore a Chanel classic suit today, diamond necklace glinting at her throat, every gesture exuding aristocratic grace.

"Let me try these two."

Chloe had just spent hundreds of thousands without flinching externally, though internally she bled. Normally she hesitated over buying a single bag.

Despite having Nathan's supplementary card, to maintain her pure image she only used it for prenatal checkups. Even clothing purchases required deliberation.

Those Hermès bags in the villa's walk-in closet? Nathan had explicitly forbidden her from touching them.

Margaret shot her a sidelong glance.

She saw right through the girl's act.

Petty.

Too timid to spend freely, coveting things yet pretending otherwise. What false purity.

Margaret couldn't be bothered. With a careless wave: "Pick whatever you like."

Chloe feigned refusal: "No need, Auntie..."

"Suit yourself." Margaret's tone turned frosty.

Chloe froze.

This wasn't how she'd imagined the interaction.

Just then, a salesgirl's delighted voice carried from the entrance: "Madam Laurent! We were about to deliver the new collection for your selection!"

Margaret's pulse jumped. She turned to see Eleanor Roland.

Eleanor wore a pale qipao with pearl shawl, bamboo-handled bag dangling from her wrist—an image of refined elegance.

Though past forty, meticulous upkeep made her appear barely thirty. Among Boston's elite socialites, Eleanor always commanded attention.

Margaret particularly loathed sharing spaces with her.

"Madam Laurent, long time no see." Margaret forced a smile.

Eleanor gave a faint nod, her gaze sliding past to beckon behind her: "Evelyn, come here."

Her voice instantly softened eight degrees.