Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption-Chapter 281: Who do you think you are?

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Chapter 281: Who do you think you are?

Jessica took a deep breath and stood rooted at the spot, her ears perked up and her sense of hearing heightened. Her eyes subtly scanned the hallway, alert to every flicker of movement.

Then she noticed another restroom, just beside the one she had exited from moments earlier.

A strange feeling crawled down her spine. She couldn’t shake off the sense that someone had been waiting for her. Watching her. Maybe they lacked the courage to approach, or perhaps they were simply waiting for the right moment.

Her instincts screamed for caution, but then she decided to create an opportunity for the person. Taking a deep breath, she stepped backward, retreating into the restroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

She turned toward the sink, her expression hardening. Her heartbeat slowed through sheer willpower.

She twisted the faucet. The water gushed out with a steady stream, splashing against the porcelain.

Slowly and calmly, she began to wash her hands, her eyes locked on her reflection in the mirror. She wanted to see the person and possibly meet her enemies sooner.

It had been clear at the table that she wasn’t welcomed by them. She had an inkling they were afraid she would take over the leadership, but she didn’t care.

From the mirror’s surface, she watched. Still, no one approached. The hallway remained silent.

She pulled the hand towel from the rail and dried her hands with quiet precision. Then, she stepped back out into the hallway with controlled grace and shut the door behind her with a firm click.

"Who’s there?" Her voice rang out, sharp and cold.

The door to the other restroom creaked open, and a tall, slender woman emerged. Her face was round but with sharply defined cheekbones, plastered in thick makeup that seemed more like armor than adornment.

Her fingers and wrists were weighed down with gold bangles and rings. Her designer gown shimmered with gold accents, catching the hallway light like a curtain of stars.

But her eyes were icy and unwelcoming, carrying no sparkle.

Jessica’s gaze was still and observant, noting every flicker of emotion that passed through the woman’s expression. What she saw was clear: disdain, resentment, and barely concealed anger.

Cassandra Santiago.

Lady Matilda’s niece by marriage, and one of the more vocal extended family members who had made no effort to hide her dislike since Jessica’s arrival.

Cassandra looked Jessica up and down and let out a humorless chuckle. "Seems you’re not as clueless as I thought. I was actually waiting for you. Or were you just hiding from the ghosts in your heart?"

Jessica raised one brow slowly but said nothing. Silence was her armor now. Her eyes calmly took in the other woman, her pose, her clenched fists, the barely suppressed tension in her jaw.

She had expected someone to approach her after dinner. She hadn’t been naïve. That seat beside Lady Matilda at the head of the table had spoken louder than words ever could, as she had noticed their gaze and actions when she was asked to sit.

It had disrupted something and seemed to challenge a line that many here thought was etched in stone.

Jessica wasn’t surprised. Only mildly curious that it had taken this long.

Cassandra shifted her weight, waiting for a response that didn’t come. Irritated, she snapped, "Young lady, are you deaf all of a sudden?"

Jessica exhaled slowly, reigning in her reaction. Her pregnancy had already tested her patience several times that day. But this wasn’t the moment to lose her cool. It was, however, not a moment to be trampled on either.

With a slight smile playing at the corner of her lips, she said, "Don’t you think it’s strange, Mrs. Cassandra, that a family as old as the Santiagos never taught you the importance of manners—or introductions?"

Cassandra’s fist clenched by her side, her long manicured nails digging into her palm. The insult hit its mark.

"You’re settling in quickly," she said, voice low, icy.

Jessica tilted her head. "Pardon?"

Cassandra took a step closer, the heels of her stilettos clicking with authority as she let the restroom door shut behind her. "Who do you think you are, walking in and disrupting the hierarchy of this family?"

Jessica frowned slightly. "Disrupt?"

"That seat beside Lady Matilda at dinner wasn’t just a seat," Cassandra spat. "It was a declaration. She had subtly made you the heir of the Santiagos. That seat has never been given lightly, and tonight you were handed it like some treasured heir. Just like that. A seat that Donald hasn’t been given the opportunity to sit on."

Jessica straightened, her tone firm but composed. "I have no quarrel with you, Cassandra. But you shouldn’t mistake my silence for weakness."

"Oh, I see. The humble act," Cassandra mocked, folding her arms. "You’ve taken your time plotting this moment, haven’t you? Spent weeks feeding stories to the matriarch, spinning tales about being Nora’s daughter. But don’t get too comfortable."

Jessica felt a headache coming on, yet she couldn’t start now to explain her innocence in this matter and, left with no option, she could only stand her ground. Besides, no one cared about the truth.

"Lady Matilda made her choice. I only honored it." She smirked with a mischievous glint.

Cassandra’s laugh was bitter. "Honored? My daughter has spent her life under Lady Matilda’s watchful eye. She’s earned every chance, every recognition. While you—where were you all these years? What makes you worthy to even sit at that table?"

Jessica’s jaw tightened, her palms heating up at her sides. Now, things seemed clearer. It was a selfish plot, but then a thought settled in her heart. "Isn’t it possible that Cassandra might have been the one that poisoned Lady Matilda some time ago?" she mused.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She made a decision to keep a close watch on her, but then she would let her have the upper hand. Besides, she was just a naïve lady.

Cassandra stepped even closer, her perfume—a cloying, overwhelming floral—invading Jessica’s space. "You may hold Lady Matilda’s attention now, but don’t think you’ve won anything. This family doesn’t forget... and we don’t welcome outsiders."

Before Jessica could speak, footsteps echoed from down the hallway. Both women froze. The approaching figure came into view—a young maid.

"Ma’am," she said gently, "Lady Matilda is asking for Miss Jessica."

Jessica turned, meeting the maid’s eyes with a calm nod. Then she looked over her shoulder, directly into Cassandra’s unblinking gaze.

"I may not know every detail about this family," she said, voice low and steady, "but I know enough about people to recognize a warning... and a threat."

Without another word, she stepped past Cassandra, refusing to flinch or quicken her stride. Her back was straight, her expression poised. She moved with the elegance of someone who knew her worth—even if others refused to acknowledge it.

Cassandra remained where she stood, lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze sharp and burning. Like a vulture watching its prey disappear beyond reach, but not out of mind.

Moments later, Jessica re-entered the dining hall with quiet composure, the soft glow of the chandeliers welcoming her back like a stage spotlight. Conversations hushed briefly. All eyes turned.

Lady Matilda smiled gently, motioning toward the seat at her side. "Jessica, dear, I hope there is no problem?"

Jessica nodded. "No, just work-related. Thank you."

She took her seat gracefully, her hands folding gently in her lap. Despite her brief exit, the tension hadn’t waned at all. It was still there—the subtle glances, the cold stares, and the calculating smirk.

A cousin at the far end whispered something under her breath. Another aunt offered a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Jessica remained composed. She was not here to beg for acceptance. She was here because the woman at the head of this table had claimed her as blood.

Lady Matilda lifted her wine glass. "To family, both old and new."

The others raised their glasses. Some enthusiastically. Others with visible reluctance.

Jessica raised hers too, silently promising herself: no matter how uncomfortable the seat, she would learn to sit in it with pride.

Even if it meant weathering storms. Even if the family didn’t believe she belonged. The name of Nora Santiago must be written in gold.

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