She quickly sent him a syrupy voice message: “How about we meet at a restaurant to discuss compensation? Or you could come to my place—26 Willow Lane.”
The reply came seconds later:
No need. Just transfer the money directly to this card.
My sister’s smile faltered. “Forget it. I won’t reply right away. I have to be reserved. Make him chase me.”
I knew exactly why she was sulking. In my previous life, after the neighbor’s child blew up that Rolls-Royce, Adrian Beckett had personally visited the mother and son every day with gifts in hand. My sister must have thought history would repeat itself.
She muttered under her breath, half-dreamy, half-bitter. “He must be intimidated by my beauty. That’s why he’s acting so distant. He probably thinks he’s not good enough for me. Poor man.”
Then she sighed dramatically. “Oh, it’s so hard being this beautiful—men just can’t handle it.”
I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. “So… you’re not going to pay him back?”
“What’s there to pay for? We’re practically family already.”
Before I could answer, her phone rang.
She shot me a smug look. “See? He couldn’t stand it when I didn’t reply.”
She put the phone on speaker, chin high.
“Ms. Wynn,” a deep voice said, completely emotionless, “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but if you don’t transfer the compensation within three days, I’ll call the police.”
My sister blinked, stunned. “Didn’t I tell you to come to my house?”
“I don’t have time for nonsense,” he said curtly. “If I don’t receive the payment, we’ll settle this legally.”
And with that, he hung up.
My sister’s triumphant expression froze on her face.
Adrian hung up, and my sister just tossed her hair, unfazed.
“He’s just playing hard to get. You’ll see—he’ll be back.”
Right on cue, there was a knock on the door.
My sister’s face lit up. “See? I told you!”
She practically skipped to the door, flung it open—
—only to find the village chief and a crowd of angry villagers glaring at her.
They shoved their way inside. The village chief’s face was dark with fury.
“Maris! Your son blew up the sewer, set the fields on fire, and destroyed the road. While the rest of us were out there trying to save the crops, you hid in here without lifting a finger. Do you have any conscience at all?”
The villagers shouted over one another:
“You’d better pay for the losses!”
“My field was ruined!”
“Mine too!”
“You owe us all compensation!”