Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 22: Family Dinner

"Where are you coming from? And why are you looking like that?"

Gianna’s uncle, Clement, barked the moment she stepped into the dining room, ushered in by the butler as though she were an unwelcome guest.

With eyes sharp enough to peel skin, he scanned her from head to toe in one slow, dragging sweep. His thick brows pinched into a judgmental knot, and his lips curled as though her very presence had soured the air.

He took in the loose strands of hair escaping her bun, the light smear of fatigue under her eyes, the simple, drenched, work clothes she still had on—all of it noted with visible contempt.

"Weren’t you informed of a family dinner?"

"Yes, I was," Gianna replied, her voice calm and unhurried as she offered a polite greeting to the people at the table. "But I was swamped with work... there was no time to change clothes."

Across the table, Sabrina scoffed dramatically, tossing her cutlery down with an exaggerated clatter.

Her narrowed eyes flashed with venom, still wounded from the humiliation she’d endured yesterday when Zane had rebuffed her in favor of the "flea" standing before her.

"Swamped with work? What work? You’re no more than a basic designer at the Becketts," she sneered, her lips curling with a mocking smile.

Gianna didn’t bother responding. Hunger gnawed at her, and despite her deep irritation with this entire family, Matilda’s cooking had always been homey—warm, nostalgic, reminding her of softer days, of safety she no longer associated with this house.

She walked to the table with unbothered steps, as though she weren’t the storm center brewing in the room.

She pulled out a chair, sat, and reached for the ladle. Without asking permission or sparing them another glance, she served herself from the food bowls, fully aware of the sharp, cutting stares slicing into her frame.

When she finished filling her plate, mouth already watering from the intoxicating aroma, she poured herself a glass of wine.

She took a slow, appreciative sip, letting the taste settle before setting the glass down with deliberate calm. Then she lifted her fork.

She had just poised it over her plate, ready to scoop a roll of food into her mouth, when Clement’s palm slammed against the table, the thud echoing through the room.

"Do you think you can walk in here and ignore us while eating our food?"

Yes, I can, Gianna thought plainly. But she said nothing.

She lifted her fork again and finally took a mouthful. The moment the flavors burst over her tongue, she nearly sighed—Matilda, truly.

Perhaps she should find a way to bribe the woman into leaving this viper’s nest and work for the Thornes instead. Especially now, knowing Clement had ruthlessly cut the servants’ salaries after her grandfather’s death.

"Gianna Aldo!"

"Stop shouting, Uncle. You might disturb the neighbors." Her tone was mild, almost bored.

It was impossible for anyone outside to hear them—the mansion walls were practically fortress-thick—but she enjoyed the way Clement’s face reddened like an overripe fruit.

Let him choke on his rage. She took another scoop just to spite him.

Clement’s jaw worked wordlessly. Shock held his tongue. The last time Gianna had set foot in this house had been three months ago, for the anniversary of her parents’ death. That was always the only time they saw her—anniversaries.

The prodigal daughter. Truthfully, he preferred the distance. Yet here she was... and not as subdued as before.

His wife’s shrill voice cut into his thoughts.

"Be careful, Gianna. I don’t know what is feeding this arrogance of yours, but you are not a top designer. You need our help to stand... to continue living that lavish lifestyle of yours."

Josephine’s nose lifted proudly, lips thin with disdain. "Or are you banking on the Thornes? On Athena’s help? Surely, you’re not that beggarly?"

Gianna didn’t answer. She simply kept eating, her calm expression so stable it bordered on infuriating.

"I hope you’re not," Josephine continued, leaning back with false sympathy. "You can count on us now. You don’t have to worry, or start fighting with your uncle... remember he is your father now—"

Gianna’s head snapped toward her so fast the air seemed to crack.

"You both should stop clamoring to hold titles you have no business claiming in my life," she said, voice cold enough to frost glass.

"You are not my parents. You have never been my parents. You will never be. Focus on Sabrina, and let me be, Aunt. I have no use for your mothership."

Sabrina stiffened. Her fingers curled around her napkin, itching—burning—to strike Gianna across the face like before. But something in Gianna’s eyes froze her.

This Gianna was different. More dangerous than the wounded girl who’d lived with them after Susan and Phillip Aldo died. This version looked reckless. Untethered. A creature with nothing left to lose.

A rabid animal.

But she would tame her. Sabrina smiled thinly at the thought.

Meanwhile, after Josephine recovered from the shock of Gianna’s words, she moved suddenly—quick as lightning—snatching a glass of water. Before anyone could blink, she flung the contents directly into Gianna’s face.

The cold splash hit Gianna’s skin, dripping down her cheeks, soaking her hair and clothes, blurring her makeup.

Josephine’s voice rose with it: "How dare you? Did you think my silence at the company today meant I didn’t know what to do? Who do you think you are, insulting me under my roof?"

My roof, Gianna corrected silently, blinking water from her lashes.

Her grandfather had willed this house to her—had told her on his deathbed. But when attempts to reach the family lawyer failed the night he passed, when the mistreatment from these people became unbearable, she left.

Abandoned the house and the will. Saved herself first.

But still... this was her house.

She said nothing however. She quietly picked up the serviette and dabbed at her face. It did little, just as she could do little for the drenched food on her plate.

Josephine, with a victorious little smirk, reached beside her seat, retrieved an envelope, and tossed it to Gianna.

"Sign those documents. Sign, and your uncle will take them to Arthur Beckett. You know how close they are. Maybe they’ll promote you...perhaps to a level two designer."

Level two designer?

Gianna smiled faintly, opening the envelope. So this was their trap.

No wonder they’d all suddenly insisted she personally attend dinner—something none of them had done in years. Even Sabrina had given her ten missed calls.

Whatever was inside had to be important.

Gianna skimmed the document.

Her smile widened—slow, amused, dangerous.

It was a transfer agreement. A legal request for her to hand over her shares—the shares that outweighed both Sabrina’s and Josephine’s combined. The last gift from her parents, and her grandfather.

She let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. Then laughed harder, the sound bubbling into the air like something unhinged.

"Are you people... crazy?" she sputtered moments later, between peals of laughter, staring directly at her uncle whose expression teetered between murderous rage and pure confusion.