Chapter 277

Rosalind stepped through the grand gates of the Whitmore estate, where Beatrice Langley, the head maid, stood waiting with a warm smile.

"Miss Rosalind, welcome home," she greeted, her voice filled with genuine affection.

Rosalind had been born with a distinctive birthmark across her cheek—something that had earned her cruel nicknames like "Patchface" and "Freak" growing up. But unlike others who might have crumbled under such ridicule, Rosalind carried herself with unshakable confidence. It was this resilience that made her the darling of the Whitmore household, adored by both family and staff alike.

She grinned and pulled Beatrice into a quick embrace. "It's good to be back! And guess what? I've invited two special guests today."

Her tone was light, but there was a spark of mischief in her eyes.

Beatrice brightened. "Friends of yours? I'm so glad you're making connections outside the family."

Just then, a sleek black limousine rolled up the driveway. The doors opened, and out stepped Isabella and Arabella—Rosalind's so-called "guests."

Rosalind's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. Speak of the devils.

This was Isabella and Arabella's first time stepping foot on Whitmore property. Both had dressed meticulously, eager to impress the elusive Bebe Whitmore.

"Arabella, what do you think Bebe looks like?" Isabella whispered, excitement lacing her voice.

Arabella smirked. "Does it matter? She clearly has excellent taste if she invited you."

Isabella preened—until her gaze landed on Rosalind.

Her face twisted in shock. "Rosalind? What the hell are you doing here?"

Arabella's jaw dropped. "This is the Whitmore estate! How did you get in?"

Neither had expected to see Rosalind standing so casually on the grounds of one of the wealthiest families in the country.

Beatrice moved to intervene, but Rosalind held up a hand, stopping her. She turned to the two girls with a lazy smirk. "Yep, this is the Whitmore estate. Care to guess why I'm here?"

Isabella narrowed her eyes. "Are you...?"

Rosalind tilted her head. "Am I what?"

Isabella glanced at Beatrice, then back at Rosalind, realization dawning. "Oh my God. Is your mother the maid?"

Beatrice's expression darkened. "Excuse me—"

Rosalind stepped smoothly in front of her, silencing the protest with a subtle shake of her head.

Arabella burst into laughter. "Hah! So your mom cleans for the Whitmores? No wonder you never mentioned it!"

Isabella sneered. "Rosalind, I almost feel bad for you. Born ugly and raised by a servant? Maybe we should start a charity to fix that hideous mark on your face. Honestly, it's disgusting."

"No wonder the only person who tolerates you is Harrison. Who else would bother with someone like you?"

The insults came fast and vicious, each one sharper than the last.

Beatrice trembled with barely contained fury. She had assumed these girls were Rosalind's friends—but now it was clear they were nothing more than vipers. If Rosalind hadn't been blocking her, she would have already summoned security.

But Rosalind? She didn't even flinch. Instead, she crossed her arms and smirked. "So, what brings you two here?"

Isabella immediately puffed up with pride. "You’ve heard of Bebe Whitmore, right? The youngest heiress? She invited us."

Rosalind gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Bebe invited you? To the Whitmore estate?"

Isabella and Arabella exchanged smug glances, practically glowing with self-satisfaction.

"Jealous?" Arabella taunted. "Bebe is the Whitmores' golden child—their treasure. And she chose us to visit."