Chapter 189

Victor Sterling frowned, his voice laced with irritation. "We have staff for that. Why should Grace have to fetch anything?"

Grace Monroe offered him a soft, reassuring smile. "It's alright, Victor. I don't mind."

She excused herself and made her way to the kitchen, fully aware that Victoria Sinclair's request was nothing more than a petty power play.

Moments later, Grace returned, carefully placing a bowl of soup in front of Victoria.

The moment Victoria's fingers brushed the bowl, she recoiled dramatically, hissing in exaggerated pain. "Grace! This is scalding! Are you trying to burn me?"

Grace suppressed a sigh. She had tested the soup herself—it was warm, not hot. Certainly not enough to cause injury.

Biting her lip, Grace replied calmly, "I checked the temperature. It shouldn't be too hot."

Victoria's eyes narrowed into slits, her voice sharp as a blade. "Oh? So now you're calling me a liar?"

Grace inhaled deeply, keeping her composure. "What would you like me to do?"

A cruel smirk twisted Victoria's lips. "What do I want?" she repeated mockingly.

Then—

In one swift motion, Victoria snatched the bowl and upended it over Grace's head. The lukewarm liquid cascaded down her hair, soaking her shoulders and dress.

Victoria leaned back, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "Well? Now you tell me—was it hot or not?"

The dining room plunged into stunned silence. No one moved. No one spoke.

Grace blinked, her fingers trembling as she touched her damp hair. Disbelief and fury warred within her. "How... how could you?"

Victoria set the empty bowl down with deliberate force, her voice dripping with venom. "What's that look for? Want to hit me?"

"Victoria, that was beyond cruel!" Victor's chair screeched as he shot to his feet, his face dark with rage. He strode to Grace's side, pulling out a handkerchief to gently dab at her ruined dress. His glare burned into Victoria. "This isn't hot. It's barely warm!"

Victoria crossed her arms, unfazed. "I say it's hot. What are you going to do about it?"

Victor's jaw clenched. "Apologize. Now."

A mocking laugh escaped Victoria. "Apologize? To her? Have you lost your mind, Victor? Or do you think I have?" Her voice turned icy. "I would never apologize to a mistress."

Victor's expression hardened. "Enough, Victoria. This ends now."

But Victoria stood her ground, defiance in every line of her body. "Oh, so the truth is too much for you? Grace knew you were married. She still had your child behind everyone's backs."

Her gaze flicked to Diana Prescott, who sat quietly, her face unreadable. "Diana tolerates her out of kindness, but that doesn't make Grace any less shameless."

The tension in the room thickened, suffocating.

Grace's hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She opened her mouth—

But before she could speak, a new voice cut through the silence.

"Actually," came the cool, measured tone, "I think you're the one who should be apologizing."

All eyes turned to the doorway.

Standing there, arms crossed and expression unreadable, was—