"Is there sothing strange on my face?"
Seeing the man staring at her, Evelyn Clayton asked in confusion.
Jas Grant’s eyes narrowed slightly: "Nothing."
"Are you guys ready?" Matthew Sullivan walked in from another room.
In a split second, Jas Grant’s figure suddenly moved closer, shielding Evelyn completely: "Let’s go."
Although it was said to be a private dinner party, in reality, the Grant Family had invited many distinguished people from the industry.
With their invitations, the group entered the venue, and as soon as they appeared, they attracted the attention of the crowd.
The most outstanding was Evelyn Clayton, in a French off-shoulder evening gown, the velvet material clinging to her waist, outlining her slender curves. The gown’s hem swayed with her steps, revealing her fair calves and ankles.
In silence, she tempted all of humanity.
Beside her, Jas Grant was tall and handso, the two of them walking slowly, resembling a beautiful painting.
Just looking at them was pleasing to the eye.
White Mother, a step behind, sneered disdainfully: "What kind of attire is that, baring shoulders and back, reeks of vulgarity, only won of the past would dress so provocatively."
"Won nowadays are getting less and less dignified."
White Mother’s voice was not too loud nor too soft, just right for those around to catch a bit of it.
In an instant, so n’s gazes shifted.
Jas Grant coldly glanced around, and those who knew his identity shafully lowered their heads. A few were even discreetly reprimanded by their female companions and taken away from the area.
With nothing to fear, White Mother continued, while Evelyn squinted her eyes, lightly pressing her tongue against her cheek.
She suddenly curved her lips into a smile: "Madam Whitman, you dress quite demurely today."
"Ha." White Mother puffed up her chest and raised her head, gesturing at her gown: "You’ve got so taste. This was personally designed and made by Master Andre, and it’s unique in the world."
Evelyn nodded seriously.
"I see. What an outdated aesthetic. Madam Whitman, foreigners have heavy stereotypes about us, just like the gown you’re wearing today. The style is comparable to sothing from the Qing Dynasty. Who even wears this kind of thing anymore? It easily makes one look a decade older."
After speaking, she pretended to cover her mouth, looking at Jas Grant with fluttering lashes.
"Oh dear, Jas, did I say sothing I shouldn’t have? Why does Madam Whitman’s face look a shade darker?"
Jas Grant chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around her.
Bending his head down, he whispered close to her ear, lowering his voice, "No."
Across from them, White Mother’s expression twisted.
Evelyn rubbed her warming ears but refrained from making more remarks to avoid causing a scene and ruining the hosts’ mood.
She stepped back, yet White Mother pressed on.
She ranted at Jas Grant: "Jas, is this how you treat your family? I’ve seen your cold heart since you were young, and you’ve grown into it. Always siding with outsiders, losing all boundaries for a woman!"
"Helping that little wench to fight your own family. How could you!"
"You must have even forgotten where the ancestors’ graves face!"
White Mother rambled on about past grievances and recent disputes.
Just those few incidents, but in her mouth, it seed like she could conjure flowers out of them.
She chattered endlessly, with Victor Whitman on the side watching the scene, showing no intention to stop it.
Or perhaps, he enjoyed it.
Jas Grant listened, growing impatient, furrowing his brows as he interrupted.
"Madam Whitman, do you only rember grievances and not the kindness? By your logic, should I halt all business collaborations with the Whitman Family?"
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