Without giving us a chance to object, Marsha turned and headed upstairs.Tina and I exchanged helpless glances.While pulling out a packet of alcohol wipes to clean her hands, Tina whispered, "What do we do? I can’t accept anything from Mrs. Wynn.""I’m scared to take anything too," I muttered, troubled.Tina looked around, probably hoping to ask Trey for advice, only to realize he and Miles had slipped away somewhere. Just then, the butler approached and invited us upstairs.Left with no choice, we braced ourselves and followed.Tina muttered under her breath, "I never thought having a meal could be this complicated. Ugh..."I couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t just complicated, it was downright nerve-wracking.When we stepped into Marsha’s room, I was genuinely stunned.The room was filled with antiques, reminiscent of early 20th-century colonial styles—perhaps even older. The porcelain vases looked like rare collector’s pieces from the Edwardian era. There were mahogany tables
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