Chapter 291: The Price of a Golden Ticket

Scalding broth spread across the table.

Catherine Holloway snatched her hand back. "What did you say?"

Paige Lawson rested both palms over the curve of her stomach. Her expression was sweet, but satisfaction sharpened her eyes.

"You heard me. You've been tired, irritable, and eating more lately. I only wondered whether congratulations were in order."

Victoria choked on a laugh and hurriedly covered it with a cough.

Catherine's face burned. The doctor had warned her about stress and rising blood pressure, yet Paige had spent weeks finding new ways to needle her.

"Watch your mouth."

"Stress is bad for the baby," Paige said. "Isn't that what you keep telling me?"

She lifted the bowl, inspected the oily surface, and set it down again without drinking. Catherine had simmered the soup for three hours. Paige dismissed it with one glance.

"Too greasy. Skim it again."

"Mrs. Harrison can do it."

"But I asked you." Paige's hand moved over her stomach. "Unless the five hundred million isn't worth a few minutes of effort."

The room went silent.

Paige had heard everything.

Catherine looked toward Victoria, whose guilty expression confirmed it. What had begun as a private family calculation was now a weapon in Paige's hands.

"You think carrying this child lets you order me around?"

"No." Paige smiled. "I think your family made the child valuable. I'm simply respecting that valuation."

Catherine's fingers tightened around the ladle.

For years, she had treated Clara's labor as something naturally owed to the Holloway family. Meals appeared, medicine was remembered, tempers were absorbed, and no one asked what any of it cost. Now Catherine stood over a cooling pot while Paige watched her with open entitlement.

The recognition came like an insult.

"Fine." Catherine pulled the bowl toward her. "I'll skim it."

Paige leaned back against the cushions. "And make something lighter tomorrow. I can't be expected to eat the same thing every day."

Victoria stared at her mother, stunned by the surrender.

Catherine skimmed the broth one spoonful at a time. Oil clung to the rim. Her wrist began to ache, but Paige continued scrolling through her phone without offering so much as a glance.

When the surface was finally clear, Catherine pushed the bowl across the table.

Paige took two small sips.

"Still too heavy. Take it away."

The spoon struck the china with a sharp crack.

Catherine rose so abruptly that her chair scraped across the floor. For one dangerous second, rage overcame calculation. Then Paige's hand settled over her stomach again.

Five hundred million.

Catherine picked up the untouched bowl and carried it back to the kitchen.

Behind her, Paige smiled.

By the time Catherine finished cleaning the spilled broth and preparing a second meal, exhaustion weighed heavily on her.