Chapter 292: Exhaustion Weighed Heavily on Her

Exhaustion weighed heavily on her.

* * *

The next morning, Paige Lawson rubbed her temples, complaining about her poor appetite and craving something refreshing.

Catherine Holloway had risen early to prepare nourishing bird's nest soup, fish maw broth, and a three-hour simmered pork trotter soup with soybeans.

Paige spat out the first sip.

"This greasy slop makes me nauseous. Is this even fit for human consumption? I wanted something light, not this layer of lard!"

Catherine's temples throbbed as her carefully prepared meal was rejected. "This is nutritious. Good for the baby."

"Only caring about the fetus? Should pregnant women suffer? This oil slick looks disgusting. How can anyone drink it?"

Suppressing her anger, Catherine asked, "What do you want then?"

"Can't even skim oil properly? Do I need to teach you such basics? I don't know how you've survived this long..."

Each word was a needle, each sentence a dagger.

Catherine, unaccustomed to such disrespect, slammed the table. "Who do you think you're talking to? Don't push your luck, Paige!"

She failed to notice Paige's vicious remarks mirrored her own past humiliations.

This was revenge.

With a $500 million bargaining chip in her womb—even if denied entry to the Holloway family—she could secure a fortune.

Surely $100 million was achievable?

What was Grant Holloway compared to that sum?

No need to please her future mother-in-law. Time to collect debts with interest.

"Yelling at me over skimming oil? If you hate it, leave. I never begged you to serve me."

"If anything happens to your precious golden grandson... don't say I didn't warn you."

"!"

Catherine took three deep breaths to suppress her rage.

Following Paige's demands, she painstakingly skimmed the oil spoon by spoon.

After thirty minutes of labor, Paige only took two sips—sending Catherine's blood pressure soaring...

While the Holloway household descended into chaos, Clara Whitmore sat in Professor Miriam Caldwell's sunlit courtyard.

June sunlight filtered through grapevines, casting dappled patterns on her white dress.

"These hands were born to hold scalpels," Miriam teased as the young woman examined her swollen knee.

Clara gently pressed the joint, finally smiling. "Noted. Great suggestion, Professor."

"Silly girl, I was joking!" Miriam tapped her forehead.

But everyone knew this determined woman would follow through.

Like that stubborn boy who switched majors years ago, rising to pinnacles amidst skepticism.

Geniuses achieved what they set their minds to.

"Your latest test results?"

Years of illness had made Clara more proficient at reading CT scans than some interns.

"Mostly normal. Seems you've been obedient this time."

The housekeeper chopping vegetables chimed in, "Indeed! Miss Whitmore's daily medication reminders make forgetting impossible."

"Lillian!" Miriam's cheeks flushed.

Clara blinked. "Let's maintain this then."

Quickly changing subjects, Miriam said, "Oh, I want you to meet someone."

"Who?"

"Connor, come out now."