Chapter 69

Shermaine was surprised to hear that Madeline was dead, and her gaze deepened.

After saying that, the old woman began to study Shermaine, who was stunning and graceful, even in casual clothes. Upon closer look, she found Shermaine familiar. After thinking for a moment, she finally realized Shermaine looked like Ruth.

Her hand, resting on the cane, trembled slightly. She narrowed her eyes and asked, “You are Ruth?”

Shermaine replied calmly, “Yes, I am.”

“What’s your name?”

“Shermaine Shue.”

The old woman stared at her with wary, cloudy eyes. “What brings you here? Jean’s biological daughter?”

Shermaine responded lightly, “Oh, nothing much. I’m just curious about the relationship between Ms. Guston and my mother.” She paused before adding with a smile, “Could I get a glass of water? I’m a little thirsty.”

The old woman was probably Madeline’s mother, Freya Guston.

Freya fell silent for a few seconds before stepping aside to let Shermaine in.

The apartment wasn’t big—about 900 square feet. The furniture was old and worn, but the place was spotless. Even the bookshelves were dust-free. There were men’s clothes on the sofa and two cups on the table—it was obvious Freya wasn’t living here alone.

Shermaine sat down on the couch, and Freya quickly brought over a cup of water.

Although Freya walked with a cane and had a slight limp, her movements were steady. For someone in her sixties, she was impressively fit—clearly someone who had trained in martial arts.

Freya sat down and said, “Maddie was just your mother’s assistant. What kind of connection could they possibly have?”

“As far as I know, my mom trusted her a lot,” Shermaine replied, taking the cup. Her fingers lightly traced the edge of the cup as she continued, “I’d like to know—what exactly happened to Ms. Guston in that car accident?”

Freya’s expression darkened. She reached under the table, pulled out an old newspaper, and tossed it in front of Shermaine. The newspaper landed on the table, sending up a small puff of dust.

Shermaine picked it up and glanced at it. The newspaper was yellowed, and the headline stood out in bold letters: [Assistant to Ruth Jean of Jean Group Dies in Car Accident, Driver Flees the Scene!]

Shermaine checked the date—it had happened before she went missing. “Has the driver still not been caught?”

Freya scoffed, “Back then, catching a criminal wasn’t easy. Even now, it’s hard to catch a fugitive. What good are those cops anyway?”

Shermaine could tell Freya had little respect for the police. She smiled faintly, choosing not to respond to that. Instead, she asked, “Would you mind telling me where Ms. Guston is buried?”

“In the Serenity Cemetery, not far from here.”

Shermaine smiled again and set the cup down. “Thanks for telling me all this. Since I’m here, I may as well visit Madeline’s grave. I’ll be on my way now.”

“Take care,” Freya said, picking up the cup and heading to the kitchen.

Shermaine had just stepped outside when she bumped into a plain-looking man dressed in black. The man’s eyes instantly darkened with malice, and without a word, he swung his fist straight at her.

The punch cut through the air with force. If it landed, it would hurt like hell.

Shermaine didn’t panic. She sidestepped the attack with ease, clenched her fist, and struck back. Her sharp instincts picked up a faint trace of killing intent—he had clearly mistaken her for a threat.

The man seemed taken aback by Shermaine’s skill, but the bloodlust in his eyes only grew more intense.

With a swift kick, Shermaine sent him flying into the door across the hallway. The door rattled loudly from the impact. Then she grabbed an umbrella from the corner and pressed its tip against his throat. If he dared to move, she’d make sure he regretted it.

The man glared at her with unrelenting hostility, placing his hand on the bag that had fallen beside him.

At that moment, Freya walked out of the house. “Miss, you’ve got some serious skills. But there’s no need to be so hard on my son. He’s got some mental issues and doesn’t like strangers in the house. He didn’t mean to attack you.”

Shermaine raised an eyebrow and moved the umbrella away.

“Zack, apologize to the lady,” Freya ordered.

Zack continued to glare at Shermaine silently. Then, he stood up, grabbed his bag, and walked back inside.

Freya quickly offered an apologetic smile.

Shermaine wasn’t one to hold grudges. Besides, she suspected the man might be on the autism spectrum or have a hint of antisocial behavior. Returning the umbrella to its place, she turned and walked away.

The door slammed shut, and Room 3003 fell into an eerie silence.

Zack scowled. “Mom, why… why don’t we… just kill her?” he stammered, but the murderous intent in his voice was unmistakable.

Freya’s expression turned grim. “Don’t ever say that again. You saw for yourself—you’re no match for her. Give me your phone.”

Meanwhile, at a high-end beauty salon, Ruth was reclining comfortably, enjoying a soothing facial massage.

A staff member came over to remind her, “Ma’am, your phone’s been ringing nonstop.”

“Can you check who’s calling?” Ruth replied.

The staff member glanced at the screen. “There’s no name attached.”

Ruth let out a casual “Oh” and said dismissively, “Just reject it. It’s probably another spam call. So annoying.”

“Got it,” the staff member said, not only rejecting the call but also blocking the number. She was proud of her attentive service.

Shermaine didn’t go to the Serenity Cemetery to visit Madeline’s grave. Instead, she drove off. Her instincts told her the car accident wasn’t as simple as it seemed—but for now, she had no leads to follow.

‘There’s no need to rush. I’ll figure this out, one step at a time,’ she thought.

That evening, Joshua came to pick up King Tiki. He brought the same dessert from the night before and carried a bag with a gift box inside.

“What’s this?” Shermaine asked.

“It’s the dress for our engagement party next month,” Joshua said, handing her the box. “It just arrived today. Go ahead and try it on to see if it fits.”