Chapter 451: Clara Whitmore Stood at Her Front Door

Clara Whitmore stood at her front door, double-checking the house number.

Muddy footprints covered the pale gray hardwood floor. Snack wrappers and fruit peels littered the ground. Two black shoe prints stamped the pristine white walls like savage tribal markings.

Raucous laughter erupted from the living room, resembling a disturbed hornet's nest.

She turned to her mother.

Helen Whitmore forced a strained smile, her eyes conveying: You see what I mean.

"Daniel's daughter is back!" A permed auntie rushed forward. "Graduate school at Ashford University, right? Bringing honor to the Whitmore name!"

"You're already twenty-five?" A floral-shirted aunt scrutinized her. "My daughter had toddlers at your age."

Seven or eight relatives swarmed around her. Sunflower seed shells rained onto her shoes.

Clara mumbled polite responses before escaping upstairs under the pretense of using the bathroom.

Her bedroom door gaped open.

Her stomach dropped. She hurried to inspect the vanity. The jewelry box remained untouched, but the bedsheet looked trampled by elephants.

Dinner arrived via Helen's takeout order.

Twelve lavish dishes crowded the dining table as relatives ate with greasy enthusiasm. Great-aunt Marjorie picked her teeth, then froze upon seeing Daniel Whitmore tie an apron.

"Daniel!" She yanked her nephew's arm. "Since when do men enter kitchens?"

"Just clearing plates." Daniel remained unperturbed.

"Where's your wife?"

"Finalizing a manuscript in the study."

The old woman slammed the table. "What manuscript matters more than serving in-laws?"

"Helen's the breadwinner here." Daniel stacked dishes with practiced ease. "I handle domestic affairs."

The rhythmic clatter of washing-up echoed from the kitchen. Great-aunt Marjorie watched her nephew's efficient movements, eyes bulging.

At 10 p.m., Clara had just touched her pillow—

"CRASH!"

The entire house shook.

She sprinted downstairs barefoot to find two brats frozen before the entertainment center. A 65-inch LCD screen lay shattered at their feet, its spiderweb cracks glinting under the lights.