Chapter 126 : What do you mean by this?

Dear Gentle Readers, 

Apologies for missing an update. Life has been pretty hectic. 

please enjoy...

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Serena’s expression darkened. Her grandparents were from Charleston, yet during her recent visits there, she had deliberately avoided them.

The reason was simple—after her mother gave birth to her, her grandparents had never approved of her.

In Charleston, tradition dictated that a newlywed daughter-in-law was to live with her husband’s family for a period of time. But Alfonso, Serena’s father, was the eldest son, and the favoritism in their family had always leaned toward his younger brother. Since childhood, Alfonso had been overlooked, enduring years of unfair treatment.

After he married Elena, things only worsened. The day after their wedding, Alfonso and Elena were assigned a dilapidated room. Their first meal as a married couple wasn’t even a proper one—there was no rice, and they had to borrow it.

Serena’s grandparents had disliked Elena from the very beginning. They had scolded her mercilessly while she was still alive, making it abundantly clear that they wished Alfonso had married someone else. Yet when it came to their younger son, their affection knew no bounds.

Perhaps it was this blatant favoritism that had pushed Alfonso to leave Charleston altogether. He had taken Elena with him to New York, where they started from nothing—selling goods on the streets, struggling, and eventually building a successful business from the ground up.

But the deepest betrayal came when Serena was born. The moment her grandparents heard that Elena had given birth to a girl, they cursed her mother—while she was still in the delivery room, exhausted and weak from labor. At that time, Alfonso was in New York, tirelessly working at his stall. Only Marco and Mona, Serena’s uncle and aunt, were present with Elena in Charleston, but they could do nothing to shield her from the cruel words.

After that, Alfonso had had enough. He brought Elena and baby Serena to New York and severed all ties with his family. For years, he never looked back.

Serena had always believed her father had done the right thing. In fact, her mother—before she passed away—never once blamed him for anything. She had only ever said, "I guess I was just never meant to have good fortune."

Now, after all these years, her grandparents had suddenly shown up in New York—at the Morales family’s old mansion, no less.

Something about this felt deeply unsettling.

Serena gripped the steering wheel, her gut warning her that this was not a simple visit.

She pressed the speaker button on her phone as Araminta’s voice came through the line.

"Are you sure about this?" Serena asked, her voice cautious.

Araminta sneered before handing the phone to an older man.

A familiar voice—one she hadn't heard in years—resounded through the speaker.

"Serena," her grandfather, Ricardo, said with a biting edge to his tone. "Your family has done a good job hiding the truth. Living so extravagantly in New York, while keeping us in the dark. Alfonso is my son, and yet, here I am, the last to know about his success."

Serena’s stomach twisted.

"Get back here immediately," Ricardo continued. "Otherwise, I’ll make sure the Morales family has no peace today!"

Serena’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"Serena, listen carefully," Ricardo went on. "Your father is in trouble now, and we need to have a serious talk. This mansion—do you think you’ll get to enjoy it all by yourself? Your grandmother and I have worked hard our whole lives, and you haven't shown us an ounce of filial piety. And now, I hear Alfonso is in the hospital? That's divine punishment, if you ask me!"

His voice grew more agitated with each word. Standing in the grand Morales mansion, he took in the towering crystal chandeliers, the elegant marble flooring, the luxurious furniture—it was everything he had never imagined Alfonso would possess. The realization made his blood boil. How had they managed to hide all of this for so long? If it weren’t for the tip-off they received, he and his wife would still be living in ignorance.

Serena’s expression grew icier.

She had barely interacted with her so-called grandparents. In fact, she had only been to Charleston once when she was very young—her mother had taken her.

But she remembered that visit clearly.

Because that was the day her grandparents had chased her and Elena out with brooms.

At the time, her father had just begun making money.

Elena, ever the dutiful daughter-in-law, had believed that when one prospers, they should give back to their elders. She had traveled back to Charleston with Serena, bringing money as a gesture of respect.

But before they even stepped foot into the house, her grandparents—assuming their eldest son was still struggling—had launched into a rage. Before Elena could even explain, the brooms came swinging.

"Get out, you disgrace!" her grandmother had screamed. "You gave birth to a daughter? Useless! We don’t need you here!"

"Other families at least have a son for their second child! And you dare show your face here?"

Serena had been too small to fight back. She only remembered the sharp whistling sound of the broom cutting through the air—again and again—as her mother shielded her with her own body.

That was the only childhood memory she had of her grandparents.

Now, standing outside the Morales family home, they had the audacity to demand recognition?

To demand a share of the life her father had built from nothing?

A slow, controlled breath left Serena’s lips.

Her father was still lying unconscious in a hospital bed. And yet, these two old vultures had come circling—not out of concern, but greed.

Fine.

If they wanted to talk, she would talk.

With a steely gaze, Serena pressed down on the accelerator, her car slicing through the New York streets as she headed toward the Morales estate. 

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Inside the grand hall of the Morales estate, the heavy air of wealth and old money lingered in every corner. The polished marble floors reflected the glow of the crystal chandelier overhead, and the elegant furnishings spoke of prestige. On the opulent sofa, Ricardo and his wife, Martina, sat with an air of self-importance, their expressions sharp and assessing.

Araminta, poised on the armchair beside them, wore a polite but distant smile. “Dad, Mom, Serena will be back soon. Just tell her whatever you want,” she said smoothly, crossing one leg over the other.

Ricardo scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “Hmph.”

Martina’s gaze swept over the room, her lips curling in slight disdain. It was hard to believe that Elena was gone now, but this woman—Alfonso’s second wife—had clearly taken her place. Another weak-willed woman, no doubt. But as long as Alfonso kept the money flowing, it didn’t really matter who filled the role.

“You’re still young,” Ricardo said, looking at Araminta. “You can have more children. When your husband wakes up, you should get a test-tube baby. What’s the point of having only a daughter? A woman who can’t bear a son is worthless.” He let out a dry chuckle. “Elena learned that the hard way, didn’t she? Died early because of it.”

Araminta’s smile barely faltered, though something flickered in her eyes. She didn’t argue. There was no point. Instead, she had called these two here for a reason—last night, she had received unexpected news from the hospital. Alfonso had shown signs of waking up.

That complicated things.

And with Serena posting guards at the hospital room, refusing to let her near him, Araminta had to come up with a distraction. Sending these two to create chaos was the perfect solution.

Half an hour later, Serena arrived.

The moment Martina laid eyes on her, a look of surprise crossed her face. “Is this Serena? She was such a scrawny little thing before, but now she’s grown into quite the beauty.”

Serena barely spared her a glance, instead looking directly at Araminta. Seeing the woman’s relaxed demeanor, Serena instantly knew she had no intention of stepping in.

If it weren’t for her father’s condition, she wouldn’t have come. She knew what kind of people Ricardo and Martina were. If she hadn’t, their presence here today confirmed it. If she hadn’t come, these two would have picked the house apart for anything of value.

Martina, surprisingly agile for a woman in her seventies, moved to Serena’s side, her beady eyes assessing. “So pretty,” she mused. “But no matter how nice a vase looks, it’s still just a decoration.”

Serena’s lips thinned. She ignored the comment and settled onto the sofa. “Why are you here?” she asked flatly.

That was it—no greeting, no pretense of warmth. She didn’t even address them as ‘Grandfather’ or ‘Grandmother.’

Ricardo and Martina bristled.

Martina folded her arms and clicked her tongue. “What do you mean ‘why are we here’? This is my son’s house! Do we need permission to visit? You’ve been living comfortably in a mansion while your uncle has been struggling to support two sons and an old woman!” She glared at Serena as if she were personally responsible for their suffering. “You think it’s fair that we live in hardship while you enjoy luxury?”

Serena exhaled, her patience thinning. “Didn’t you tell my mother, years ago, that we should never contact each other again?” Her voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp.

She could still remember it vividly—her mother, Elena, clutching her tiny hand while Ricardo and Martina threw insults at them, calling them a burden, cutting them off.

Martina’s face stiffened. She had, in fact, said those exact words. But she hadn’t expected Serena, a child at the time, to remember them so clearly.

“Serena, I’m your grandmother! You should have some respect!” Martina’s voice rose with indignation. “You weren’t raised properly, were you? It seems like I need to teach you a lesson—”

She lifted a hand, intending to slap Serena across the face.

Serena moved faster. She caught Martina’s wrist midair and, with a single push, sent her stumbling backward.

Martina gasped, staring at Serena in disbelief. “You dare to push me?!”

Serena’s patience finally snapped. Her eyes flickered to Araminta. “You’re the so-called lady of the Morales family, aren’t you? Are you really not going to do anything about this?”

Araminta feigned innocence, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Serena, they’re still my in-laws. What can I do?”

That was all the encouragement Martina needed. She turned to Araminta with a pleased expression. “Ah, you must be Araminta,” she said, her tone shifting to a calculated sweetness. “Since Alfonso isn’t awake, you’re the one managing the household finances, aren’t you?”

Araminta smiled demurely. “That’s right.”

Martina’s eyes gleamed. “Then as Alfonso’s wife, shouldn’t you be taking care of his family? Your younger brother, Sergio, bought a house in New York, but he’s struggling with the mortgage. He needs 2.7 million dollars to pay it off.” She sighed dramatically. “Poor boy might lose his home if he can’t make the payments.”

Serena clenched her fists. She already knew where this was going.

Araminta, however, did not hesitate. She pulled out a card and handed it over. “Here’s 3 million. That should cover everything.”

Martina’s eyes lit up with greed. She snatched the card and clutched it tightly, beaming.

Serena stood there, feeling a deep sense of helplessness. She had no power to stop this. Legally, Araminta was her father’s wife, and she had financial rights to the Morales estate. If she wanted to hand out millions, there was nothing Serena could do.

Martina, now holding 3 million dollars she hadn’t earned, suddenly felt regret. If Araminta had agreed so quickly, she should have asked for more—five million, at least.

Her greedy mind worked fast. Her gaze flickered toward the grand staircase, taking in the vast mansion. The luxurious space, the expensive furnishings—it was too good for just Araminta and Serena.

Martina turned to Ricardo, an idea forming. “We should talk to Sergio,” she whispered, a greedy smile curling her lips.

Ricardo nodded in agreement.

If they played their cards right, they could move Sergio and his whole family into this mansion. That way, the entire family could live in luxury—permanently.

Serena watched them, her stomach twisting with disgust.

Satisfied for now, Martina patted her pocket where the bank card sat snugly. “Alright, your father and I will go back for now. We need to talk to your uncle. We’ll return tomorrow.”

With that, she and Ricardo left, their steps lighter now that their pockets were full.

Serena stood in the grand hall, watching them go.

Her fingers curled into fists.

This wasn’t over. 

Serena's stomach twisted with unease as she locked eyes with Araminta. Her voice was steady, but tension curled beneath her words. "What do you mean by this?"

Araminta tilted her head, her expression laced with feigned innocence. "Well, they are my parents in law, after all. I can't just kick them out, can I? If your father wakes up and decides to blame me, what will I do?"

Serena clenched her jaw, trying to suppress the frustration building inside her. She knew the kind of people Alfonso’s parents were—relentlessly biased towards his younger brother, treating Alfonso like an afterthought. Years ago, they had even gone so far as to push him and his first wife into a smaller house, refusing to acknowledge their struggles. If Alfonso regained consciousness, he might help his brother with his debts, but he would never stand by and watch his parents stir up chaos within the Morales family.

Serena inhaled deeply, but it did little to steady her nerves. She felt utterly powerless. The Morales estate stood firm around her, grand and imposing, yet she felt like nothing more than an outsider within its walls. She owned no shares—at least, none in her possession. The 10% stake her mother had left her was currently in Araminta's grasp, temporarily entrusted to her by their father.

Reaching for her bag, Serena prepared to leave, but Araminta’s voice, honeyed yet edged with calculation, stopped her. "Your grandparents will be arriving tomorrow," she announced, watching Serena carefully. "If they start demanding money or trying to take things from the family estate, I won't be able to stop them. It’s out of my hands, you see. Serena, this is something you’ll have to deal with. You should come home more often these days."

A bitter smile ghosted across Serena’s lips. "That doesn’t sound like you at all," she remarked, her tone unreadable.

Araminta’s eyes glimmered with something unreadable—amusement, perhaps, or veiled warning. "After all," she said smoothly, "I am the elder."

Serena didn’t reply. She turned toward the door, her heart still pounding from the confrontation, and stepped outside into the cool night air. The weight of the conversation pressed against her as she walked toward her car. She reached for the door handle, but something made her pause.

A flicker of movement in the backseat.

Before she could react, a firm hand clamped over her mouth, and the sharp scent of chemicals filled her nose. A sickly sweet, pungent aroma invaded her senses—chloroform.

Her vision swam, the world around her spinning into darkness.

Then, nothing...