Seeing Patrick’s towering rage, Marianne was reminded of how brutally he had treated her outside Obsidian Palace just a short while ago.
Humiliation turned to anger, and she shrieked, “What are you yelling at me for? What right do you have to blame me? Or our sons? You’re her father! She lived here for four years, and you never noticed either, did you? You didn’t set foot in here to check on her once in four years. You never cared whether she lived or died! So don’t you stand there and pretend to be the good guy now!”
Patrick’s face flushed a deep red, and for a long moment, he couldn’t utter a single word.
He ran his hands through his hair roughly.
She was right. Who was there to blame?
No wonder Serena hated them so much—hated them enough to leave the Wynn family without a second thought, hated them so much she refused to ever come back.
Anyone who had been treated like trash in an environment like this for four years would be filled with hate!
He leaned weakly against the wall. The fever and the intense pain in his head made his dizziness even worse.
He honestly wished he could just black out and faint again.
“Dad, right now… there’s no point in saying any of this,” Benedict said, looking at the heartbreakingly shabby room and then at his father, who looked unwell and deeply uncomfortable. He spoke with difficulty. “With the Wynn family in this state… and with a hundred-million-dollar debt, what are we going to do next?”
Patrick took several deep, ragged breaths, trying to regain some composure. “What can we do? We have to go to the source of the problem… Our only hope now is Serena.”
“She’s able to mix with Mr. Foster, the Barnes family’s daughter, Mr. Hawthorne… that whole group of top-tier elites. And her status among them is so high…”

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