Finally, Oliver, Anthony’s father, who had been sitting at the head of the table, spoke. His voice was sharp, his gaze cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Then tell me, how much betrothal money do you want?"

I lowered my spoon and fork with a calm expression and spoke without hesitation.

"Not much. Just 88,000 dollars, the same last digits as Amelia’s."

Zora’s eyes went wide in surprise. She shot up from her seat, fury spreading across her face.

"That’s not much? Are you trying to bleed us dry? You can have 8,800 dollars, but 88,000? Absolutely not!"

She snapped her head away, her gaze fixed stubbornly elsewhere, unwilling to meet my eyes.

Amelia, who had been tightly wound the entire evening, finally reacted. She shot me a cold glare, her voice dripping with reproach.

"Aurelia, what’s this nonsense? Is this how you speak to your elders?"

I stood, about to fire back, but Anthony’s hand caught mine, halting me.

He shook his head, silently urging me to stay silent and not escalate things with his sister.

At that moment, I froze, realizing that what was right and wrong was as clear as day.

But him… six years of my youth, wasted without a second thought!

I jerked my hand away, my words sharp and full of frost.

"What do I want? Isn’t it me who should be asking that?"

"Isn’t it the norm to discuss dowries and wedding banquets before marriage?"

"You want a wedding but refuse to spend a cent. Tell me, where in the world does such a good deal even exist?"

I raised an eyebrow, my lips curling into a wry smile. "How about I cover the dowry and Anthony marries into my family instead? The child can even carry my surname."

Zora’s fury was palpable. Her hands shook as she pointed at me, her face flushed with anger, her teeth grinding together.

"You're out of your mind! Making demands like that, where do you expect us to find that kind of money? You’re just making life difficult for us old folks!"

Oliver’s palm slammed against the table with enough force to rattle the dishes.

His expression was dark, his voice cutting through the tension in the room.

"I’ve never seen anyone so desperate for money. Are you marrying or selling yourself?"

"Sell me?" I scoffed, the words dripping with contempt.

"Wanting a dowry means I’m selling myself?" I let out a laugh, bitter and cold. "Then your daughter must have fetched a pretty penny, hasn’t she?"