The Substitute Bride

"Seriously? Are you kidding me? You're nothing but a gold digger. Just admit that you married Charles for his money and power. You've never been good enough to be a part of our family and you never will be." Melissa raised her voice, wearing a stern face.

"I know you think that I don't deserve your son. So, tell me. Who do you think is good enough for him?" Sheryl inquired calmly.

"Leila would be a good wife for Charles. Now that you know, what now? Are you going to divorce my son?" replied Melissa with a sarcastic smile on her lips.

The joke made Sheryl chuckle. "Mom, Charles and I are a solid pair. Even if we're enemies, I'll be his wife. You have to accept that I'm your daughter-in-law whether or not you want to," she said.

"How…how dare you!" Melissa trembled with anger. Pointing at the woman in front of her who looked too perky for her liking, Melissa snapped, "Is this how you talk to your husband's mother? Where are your manners? Unlike you, Leila is sensible and well-bred..."

Abruptly interrupting her, Sheryl retorted, "Of course, I'm sure you're much better-bred than I am. Otherwise, how could you tell me you're going to get your son a mistress? Truly, I have so much to learn from you." The fake smile on Sheryl's face was taunting.

Upon hearing the sarcastic remark, Melissa glowered at the woman. The older lady was so furious that her eyes almost popped out.

This time, Sheryl really pushed her buttons. During her stay in prison, she had suffered immensely. Although she had been free for a while, the inferiority she experienced still haunted her—she had a criminal record, after all.

The arrogance and pride she always exuded were a means to protect herself. Now that Sheryl had stamped all over her facade, she felt humiliated.

Blazing fury smoldered within her heart. Glaring at her daughter-in-law with ferocious eyes, she wished she could pounce on the woman and strangle her.

'It's all this bitch's fault. Because of her, I can never get a break. She's the reason why Charles d

big cut across his left index finger where blood started to drip from.

Hurriedly, he dropped the knife. As he was about to press down on the cut with his other hand, someone made him turn around.

"What's wrong? Did you get hurt? Let me have a look!" A familiar, anxious voice reached his ears. Looking up, Nick saw Cassie's worried expression as she held his hand and examined the cut closely.

Feeling uneasy, he attempted to withdraw his hand from hers.

"Stay still!" she seriously said as her grip on his hand tightened. "I need to disinfect your cut or it will fester."

Casting a glance at the soup brewing on the stove, Nick began to say he would take care of the cut later when Cassie turned down the heat and pulled him into the living room. "Where is the first-aid box, Nick?" she hastily asked.

Although Nick wanted to tell her that the cut wasn't a big deal at all, the worried look on her face made him swallow his words. Instead of refusing her help, he pointed to where the kit was.

In a blink, Cassie had the first-aid kit ready. Wasting no time, she brought out the medicinal alcohol and cotton to disinfect the wound before carefully covering Nick's injured finger.

After taking care of his cut, Cassie put the first-aid kit back and urged, "Try not to get this wet for a while. You don't want to get the cut infected…"