Chapter 4 Where Is My Home Now？

Tiffany stumbled out of the room, still haunted by Mortimer’s behavior just now. It turned out that all those rumors were not unfounded. This man truly had a terrible temper. He really was a devil of a man once he was conscious. Monroe handed her a cup of tea in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves. “Madam, why don’t I have the servants prepare another room for you tonight? Having some distance from Master Mortimer right now might help him calm down. You can seek him out again after.” Tiffany was not blind to the hate Mortimer had for her. She wouldn’t risk her neck taking her belongings from the master bedroom right now. Sighing exasperatedly, Tiffany asked him, “Do you think I should just leave?” Sympathy welled up in Monroe’s chest for the young woman before him. “It may be hard for Master Mortimer to accept all this right now. He never consented to Madam Kelly’s arrangement of this marriage, and getting a divorce is not as easy right now.” “But how can we live together if he despises me so much?” Monroe had no answer for that. He was only a butler. Tiffany found it hard to fall asleep in the bed of the guestroom that night. Her mind was a mess of thoughts. Sure, they were a married couple, but he hadn’t even attended the wedding ceremony. Even arranged marriages worked out better! What was she to do now? The next morning, Tiffany’s things were brought to her room while Monroe invited her downstairs for breakfast. Afraid of facing Mortimer, she asked, “Can I not?” Monroe shook his head. “It is the family’s custom to eat together during meals. You can also use this opportunity to spend time with Master Mortimer, madam.” Tiffany grumbled internally, “Why would Mortimer want me to stick around if he can’t bear the sight of me?” She warred with herself over social customs. Manners and ethics were of the utmost importance among upper-class societies. She had to adhere to them while she was part of this family—or at least while she lived here. In the end, Tiffany begrudgingly washed up for breakfast. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she spotted Mortimer outside strolling in the garden. He moved slowly, taking his time. It was impressive enough that he was walking without any support, given he had been bedridden for three years. Tiffany watched him for a long while as he walked. Monroe had to invite her over to the dining table before she moved. Her heart was palpitating at the table while she kept her eyes lowered to her plate. “Are you pregnant?” came the cold tone. Tiffany glanced up weakly, meeting Mortimer’s gaze. “Get rid of it.” His voice was flat and indifferent, as if talking about something inanimate, none of his concern. Tiffany’s heart skipped a beat, her hand balling into a quaking fist. Monroe was just as stunned. “But Master, it was Madam Kelly who intended for the pregnancy—” “So what?” Mortimer interrupted, wiping his hands with a napkin. “No one, not even my mother, can make me have children with the likes of her!” Sensing how angry his master was, the old butler shut up immediately. Tiffany frowned. The likes of her? What did that mean? Was she such a terrible person? What were all those weeks cleaning Mortimer up while he was sick then? With sudden bravado, Tiffany dropped her cutlery and said, “I’m not pregnant, and I don’t want to be, especially not with your child! Ask my nurse if you don’t believe me!” Only after she finished did she realize everyone in the dining room was staring at her in disbelief. This was the first time someone had openly gone against Mortimer. Now, the consequences of her actions were catching up with her. She shrunk back slowly, fearfully awaiting his fury. To everyone’s surprise, he only sipped his coffee before saying, “We’ll sign the divorce papers after my mother recovers, mark my words.” Even after he left the dining room, the pressure on Tiffany did not let up. It was her phone vibrating that finally snapped her out of it. It was a call from the hospital, reminding her to go to her check-up. Bile rose at the back of her throat. Did she still want to go, after all that Mortimer had said? She shut her phone and dragged her tired frame back to the guest room. On the way, she spotted a familiar figure standing in the living room. Seth Campbell. He stood beside Mortimer with an expression of utmost respect, like some faithful servant loyal to his master. “I heard you had woken up, uncle, so I came to see you first thing. I brought you some things too—here.” Mortimer did not so much as look at him, only gestured swiftly with one hand. Just like that, Monroe had some servants toss everything Seth had brought into the trash. The young man frantically exclaimed, “Ah! Uncle, I didn’t mean anything by these, really. I have prayed so hard for your recovery these past few years, hoping to be able to talk to you again.” “Really.” Mortimer looked amused. “Then what was this news I heard about you lobbying the board of directors to vote for a new president? This was two days after my accident, I recall.” “That—That was a misunderstanding!” Seth yelped. “Uncle, please, you gotta believe me! I have always been loyal to you. The people who told you must’ve wanted to cause a rift between us!” Crocodile tears beaded at the corners of his eyes. “We’re kin, Uncle, I would never betray you!” Mortimer burst into laughter, as if someone had told him the world’s greatest joke. Seconds later, he was swinging an ashtray that used to be on the table right at Seth’s face. “I’m not an idiot, boy! I know what you’ve been doing behind my back all this time. Another word from you and I’ll have Monroe toss you into the sea!” Scrambling for cover, Seth cupped the bleeding wound at his temple and ran out of the room, not bothering to explain himself anymore. Tiffany felt second-hand terror from the exchange. She could not, under any circumstances, get in Mortimer’s bad books. She snuck out of the house from the back door, fearful of being found out. When she was at the hospital, another ball was tossed in her field: “Congratulations, miss, you’re pregnant!”