Chapter 451

Wilkinson Manor.

The day's turmoil had left Old Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson exhausted.

After Elissa Drummond and Rowan Murphy departed, Old Mr. Wilkinson instructed his two grandsons to see the remaining guests out. The atmosphere in the old house gradually grew heavy again.

Old Mr. Wilkinson glanced at Tristan. "You're the head of the family now," he said, his tone softened but direct. "Don't be so indecisive about certain things. When in doubt, just listen to Laurel."

The words were tactful, but no one present was a fool. Everyone understood the old man's meaning: *You may be the head of the family, but you lack the sense for it. When something important comes up, listen to your older sister.*

Tristan's pride was a little hurt, but he didn't argue. "I know, I know. You must be tired. Why don't you go upstairs and rest?"

It was indeed getting late.

Not wanting to embarrass him further, Old Mr. Wilkinson simply nodded. "Alright."

Marcia Carson had been taken to the police station for questioning right after giving her sample.

That left only Suzanne Jensen, Laurel Wilkinson, Lawrence Quinn, and Maya Wilkinson in the grand hall.

Suddenly, Maya bent over, clutching her stomach. "Mom, Laurel, Lawrence, I'm not feeling well. I'm going to the restroom."

With that, she turned and headed upstairs. She was particular about not sharing bathrooms, preferring to use only the one in her bedroom, so no one thought anything of it.

Suzanne's gaze fell on Lawrence, whose eyes kept drifting toward her. She spoke up. "Lawrence, thank you for coming all this way today."

Lawrence's lips thinned. "We're all family. It's what I should do."

Suzanne nodded and then turned to Laurel. "Laurel, I'm a bit tired myself. Could you see Lawrence out for me?"

"Of course."

After Suzanne took the elevator, Laurel glanced at the assistant standing beside Lawrence, her expression unreadable. She then looked at Lawrence. "A word?"

Her tone was strictly business, as if she were speaking to a colleague, not the man she was about to divorce.

Beside them, Helena knew she was being dismissed. A flicker of awkwardness crossed her face before she looked to Lawrence. But he only gave her a brief glance. "Go wait for me in the car."

A fleeting, ironic smile touched Laurel's lips.

Once Helena's dress disappeared around the corner, Laurel spoke calmly can't entrust this matter to just anyone. If the Quinn family heeds anything in the future don't hesitate to call me."

After all, this was about Vera. She couldn't afford not to owe Lawrence a favor.

It was a polite, formal offer, but given Laurel's current status, it was a promise few could ever hope to receive.

Lawrence's expression remained unchanged. He simply nodded. "Okay."

"And in the future," Laurel continued, unable to stand his detached attitude, "you can just call my parents by their names. There's no need to keep saying 'we're family.""

They were getting a divorce. There was no point in this pretense of civility. It felt utterly fake.

Lawrence's brow twitched. "Let's wait until the papers are signed. We shouldn't upset the elders."

Laurel let out a dry laugh. "Always thinking of the big picture."

It was true. He had always been like that. Even marrying her had been for the sake

of the bigger picture.

But then again, so had she.

As the last of

of the

guests were

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leaving, Helena carried the two sample kits across the drawing room, heading for the front courtyard. As she passed the spiral staircase, a maid came rushing down and collided with her.

Helena, in her high heels, stumbled and nearly fell, grabbing the banister to steady herself.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry..." the maid apologized profusely, bending down to pick up the two kits from the floor and handing them back. "My apologies, are you hurt?"