Chapter 127: Her Mother's Stolen Work

Clara Whitmore overheard the blatant exploitation and psychological manipulation in her mother's phone conversation with the editor.

"Please, just this once~"

"Fine, I'll send it tonight. But I doubt you'll make it through."

Clara's voice was firm. "I'll read every single word!"

* * *

At the front door, Daniel Whitmore stood on a ladder, adjusting the holiday decorations. Squinting, he shifted the position while Clara directed him. "Dad, a little to the right."

"Higher," Helen Whitmore interjected, having just parked the car. She scrutinized the placement. "No, too high. Lower it."

Daniel obediently moved it down a few inches.

"Now it's too low," Helen frowned.

Clara made the final call. "Perfect."

Climbing down, Daniel studied the decorations with dissatisfaction. "Why does it look uneven?"

Helen suddenly burst into laughter. "You mixed up the front door and living room decorations, didn’t you?"

Daniel rubbed his nose sheepishly. "...Seems like it."

No wonder it looked off.

Helen scoffed. "Did your brain take a vacation too?"

Daniel: "..."

Clara couldn’t hold back her laughter.

* * *

New Year's Clara.

Helen personally rolled out dough and made Clara’s favorite sauerkraut dumplings—thin wrappers stuffed generously, dipped in aged vinegar for a tangy bite.

Daniel prepared a feast: braised fish, poached chicken, steamed pork with preserved vegetables, and crystal dumplings—symbolizing abundance and prosperity.

At 5 PM, the family gathered for the reunion dinner.

After the meal, Clara offered to wash dishes, but Helen shooed her away. "Go watch the gala. We’ve got this."

Daniel poked his head out from the kitchen, smoky from cooking. "If you’re bored, go light fireworks in the yard."

Clara insisted on clearing the table, then washed and sliced fruit into a platter, arranging nuts and snacks in a basket.

By 7 PM, sporadic firecrackers popped outside.

Clara pushed open the window. Fireworks bloomed across the night sky. Resting her chin on her hand, she savored the rare warmth of the moment.

Her phone buzzed.

A New Year’s greeting from Sloane Bennett. Smiling, Clara replied with a long, heartfelt message.

A video call instantly flashed on the screen.

Sloane, usually bold and flashy, looked refined with pearl hairpins holding back her curls—every inch the elegant lady.

Clara understood immediately. "Meeting the parents?"

But Sloane froze, staring at the background behind Clara. "You’re back home? I was going to ask you out for New Year’s."

In previous years, Clara had always spent New Year’s in the city with Grant Holloway.