Chapter 467

Peter was forced to work as a delivery person. He braced himself for Skylar’s mockery, but her surprise was fleeting, quickly replaced by her usual indifference.

Skylar said flatly, “I don’t enjoy kicking people when they’re down. While your past actions warrant it, I have no connection to you anymore. There’s no point.”

News of the Williams family’s downfall had faded. The initial frenzy had subsided, and Jipsburg would soon forget the Williams Group’s collapse.

However, Skylar found Maisy’s silence unusual, unlike her troublemaking nature. She wondered if Kenny or the others had done something to her—perhaps even locked her up?

Peter’s face paled. “Can you forgive us?”

He deflected blame onto Maisy, claiming she instigated their mistreatment of Skylar. He believed that without their wrongdoings, Skylar wouldn't be so distant.

Regret gnawed at him. Knowing what he knew, he would have gotten rid of Maisy from the start.

Skylar smirked. “Do you think I should forgive you?”

True to form, Peter thought appearing pitiful would elicit forgiveness. Even now, his manipulative ways persisted.

“Everyone makes mistakes and gets deceived. Maisy misled us. If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have treated you that way,” he said, attempting to shift all responsibility onto Maisy.

Skylar was amazed by his audacity. Even in his downfall, he refused to take responsibility, twisting the narrative.

Finishing her fondue, Skylar stood, meeting Peter’s gaze indifferently. “Your words are meaningless. From now on, pretend you don’t know me.”

Chapter 467

Peter’s desperation grew. He blocked her path. “Mom’s health is failing, Skylar. She constantly talks about you, regretting her actions. We all realize our mistakes. You can ignore us, but not your own mother.”

The arrogant executive was gone, replaced by a desperate man pleading for forgiveness.

Skylar’s patience was wearing thin. “Just spit it out. What do you really want?” She knew this encounter was no coincidence.

Peter hesitated, his eyes flickering. Before he could answer, a drunken Samuel stumbled over.

“Peter, get on with it! She’s our sister! Ask her for the money already! We need it!” Samuel slurred, barely able to stand.

Samuel was in worse shape than Peter; Skylar barely recognized him.

He was still dressed in designer clothes, his face pale and flushed—the paleness suggesting lack of sleep, the flush, excessive drinking.

Peter took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Mom needs daily medication, and all our money is going toward paying off debts. We can’t afford her medicine. So, I hope you can lend us some money.”