Chapter 5
The standoff lasted only seconds before Frederick seemed to lose patience.
He leaned slightly forward, his imposing presence instantly enveloping Beatrice.
Just when she thought he would erupt in anger, he reached out and unbuckled her seatbelt instead. His cool fingertips inadvertently brushed against her collarbone, sending a subtle shiver through her.
Then, without a word, he took the velvet box from the back seat and placed it in her arms. The box felt slightly heavy, its cool velvet texture making her fingertips recoil.
"Tomorrow morning, give this to Grandmother personally. Tell her you designed it especially for her."
Frederick's voice was devoid of warmth as he took Beatrice's wrist and led her into the main house.
The grand entrance hall stretched high above them, the lights almost blindingly bright, making the old mansion seem even more vast and cold.
"Mr. Stuart, Mrs. Stuart," the servant greeted them, respectfully taking Frederick's suit jacket.
Frederick didn't look at Beatrice. Once inside, he released her hand and left her with only a detached comment, "The kitchen has kept dinner warm for you."
With that, he walked straight toward his second-floor study. His tall figure was swallowed by the shadows at the staircase landing, never pausing once, never offering even a glance back.
Beatrice stood watching his retreat. This Frederick—from their arranged marriage until now—she felt she'd never truly understood him.
He had appeared when the Jennings family was pressuring her, rescuing her with a marriage contract. He would stand up for her in the most domineering way when she was at her lowest. Yet he never explained why.
It seemed all his actions were like optimal solutions after weighing costs and benefits, unrelated to emotion.
That sensational auction incident was nothing more than a powerful family head making a cold, dominant statement after discovering his possession was being coveted. Nothing to do with feelings, even less to do with her.
She looked down at the dark green velvet box in her arms, feeling its extraordinary weight.
Frederick's grandmother had already retired for the night. Beatrice walked to the master bedroom on the second floor, stealing a glance toward Frederick's study on her way.
He was still working at his computer, staring straight ahead, his jawline tense.
Back to her room, she didn't sleep that night.
The next morning, Beatrice came downstairs with faint shadows under her eyes. She had barely reached the living room when her phone rang.
The caller ID showed "Foster Father," and Beatrice's heart inexplicably sank. Since "selling" her to the Stuart family, Brian Jennings had barely contacted her except for obligatory holiday pleasantries.
As soon as she answered, Brian's unprecedented harsh voice came through the speaker. "Beatrice, come to the Jennings Villa immediately!"
Beatrice gripped her phone, her knuckles turning slightly pale. "Is something wrong?"
"Don't you know what you've done?" Brian's voice rose an octave, seemingly suppressing extreme anger. "That bastard Lucius found me last night! Have you forgotten your position? You're Frederick's wife! Yet you're meeting him privately—are you trying to drag the entire Jennings family down with you?"
So Lucius had gone to make trouble. A cold laugh rose in Beatrice's heart. "I didn't."
"You didn't what? Let me tell you, the Stuart family could destroy us with a single move! Come back right now and make things clear with Lucius in front of me. Cut all ties!"
With that, the call ended, leaving only a cold dial tone.
Beatrice put down her phone, her chest tight with frustration. If she could, she'd never want to see Brian again. He had only ever cared about whether his "merchandise" might be tarnished, affecting the Jennings family's interests.
Beatrice suppressed the turmoil in her heart, took the velvet box, and headed toward the conservatory in the back garden.
Frederick's grandmother was Catholic and spent every morning praying and meditating in the conservatory's prayer room.
The conservatory was lush with plants and flowers, the faint scent of sandalwood mixed with floral fragrances calming her nerves slightly.
Elisa Stuart, Frederick's grandmother, had just finished her prayers and was being helped by a servant to drink tea.
When she saw Beatrice enter, her wrinkled face immediately bloomed into a smile. "Bea, come sit with me."
"Grandma," Beatrice approached and presented the box. "I designed this specially for you, thinking of your upcoming birthday."
She wasn't skilled at lying, but Elisa didn't mind. She accepted the box with delighted surprise and carefully opened it.
When the emerald snake necklace came into view, even Elisa, accustomed to precious jewels, flashed with amazement. Sunlight streamed through the glass windows onto the jewelry, giving that rich green color a lifelike quality.
"My dear, you're so talented!" Elisa caressed the necklace lovingly, her smile stretching wide. "This color, this style—it's exactly to my taste."
She took Beatrice's hand and patted it affectionately. "Those luxury brands can't compare to your craftsmanship."
Receiving such sincere praise made Beatrice slightly embarrassed. "I'm glad you like it."
"Like it? I love it!" Elisa had the servant put the jewelry away safely, but she kept hold of Beatrice's hand. Her tone shifted to something more meaningful. "Bea, you and Fred have been married for three years now, haven't you?"
Beatrice nodded, her heart skipping a beat.
"Between husband and wife, the most important thing is honesty. Whatever needs to be said should be said openly. Misunderstandings should be cleared up early." Elisa's eyes were wise and penetrating, as if they could see through everything.
"You can't keep things bottled up inside and let your relationship grow distant. Men, especially ones like Fred, sometimes think too much and speak too little. You need to be understanding and take initiative."
Beatrice lowered her gaze and answered softly, "I understand, Grandma."
Seeing her obedient demeanor, Elisa sighed, then winked mischievously and lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. "You two need to give heart for heart—that's how life together becomes sweeter. Only when you two are truly good together can I hope to hold a great-grandchild soon. Don't you agree?"
Elisa added with a chuckle, "Look at me, my hair is all white now. I'm just waiting to hold my great-grandchild. You and Fred need to hurry up—don't make me wait too long."
Beatrice's cheeks flushed red, and her heart ached slightly. Yes, three years had passed, and her womb remained empty. How could someone like her fantasize that Frederick would give her genuine love?
Leaving the Stuart Manor, Beatrice instructed the driver to take her directly to the Jennings Villa.
The streetscape rushed past her window, much like how she was pushed forward through a life without choices.
Elisa's warm smile and the heat from her palm seemed to linger as they quickly arrived at the Jennings Villa.
The décor was opulent, exuding the desperate ostentation of the nouveau riche, as if afraid others wouldn't recognize the owners' wealth.
This same desperation was embodied in her foster mother, Clara Flores. Beatrice had barely stepped into the living room when a black tablet came flying toward her, landing on the wool carpet by her feet.
The screen was lit, displaying a headline that was both glaring and vulgar.