Chapter 273: The Lab's Ac Hummed Steadily

The lab's AC hummed steadily as Clara Whitmore removed her goggles, rubbing her tired eyes. After two straight weeks of experiments, she finally had a day off.

Morning sunlight streamed through the fish tank, casting prismatic patterns across the room. Clara had just sprinkled fish food when her phone lit up.

"Morning, sweetie. You awake?"

"Yeah. Feeding the fish."

"Why not sleep in? It's your day off."

"Can't fight my body clock. Where's Mom?"

"In her study."

"Chasing another deadline?"

"Of course. Her creative juices flow best in the mornings."

Clara tapped the aquarium glass absently, remembering the contract. "Dad, has any editor visited Mom recently?"

"No. Why? They usually contact her online."

"Just wondering."

Hanging up, she moved to the kitchen. Soon, the aroma of frying eggs filled the air.

From the backyard came the snip of pruning shears—Daniel Whitmore tending his prized roses.

In the study, Helen Whitmore's fingers danced across the keyboard, birthing another chilling scene for her thriller.

None of them noticed the woman in stilettos pounding on Unit 401's door in the aging faculty housing complex.

"Helen! I know you're home!"

Phoebe Ward scowled at the dirt smudging her designer pumps. This dump lacked even an elevator, and the stairwell reeked of cooking oil.

She'd never set foot in such slums if not for the expired contract. What should've been a simple online renewal became complicated after Helen blocked all contact following their last argument. Phoebe smirked. The writer always caved eventually.

"Stop pretending! Open up!"

"We only had professional differences. Have you lost all decency?"

"Helen! Keep this up and I'll drop you!"

Her knocking escalated to pounding, leaving angry red marks on her palms.

"Who the hell's wailing at this hour?"

The neighboring door flew open, revealing Brooke Walsh in a disheveled nightgown, buttons askew.

"What're you staring at, you human vase? Got no manners?" Brooke spat through the railing. "Birds of a feather—both trash!"

The sudden tirade froze Phoebe mid-pound. Beneath her flawless makeup, her face twisted with rage.