The Billionaire's True Heiress: From Fake Jewel to Real Crown novel Chapter 13

“If only the Young Matriarch had been here back then,” Abel said, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Abel, the Young Matriarch wasn’t even born yet,” Pearce reminded him gently.

“Right, right, I got ahead of myself,” Abel admitted with a sigh. “But at least things are better now. The kids in our village won’t have to worry about choking anymore.”

Ever since that incident, Abel’s family had stopped giving their children hard-boiled eggs. If the kids wanted eggs, they only got them steamed. It was true what they said… once something scares you, it sticks with you for years.

While Claire ladled soup into Pandora’s bowl, she said, “Just pay close attention when I teach later. If you do, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Abel nodded so hard it was almost funny. “We’ll all listen. If anyone slacks off, they can explain themselves in the family shrine!”

Pandora might be the Matriarch, but Abel was an elder—and nobody wanted to cross him. Besides, Claire was teaching everyone for free. People were grateful, excited even, and definitely willing to learn.

Maybe it was because Claire had saved a child as soon as she arrived, but the villagers warmed up to their new Young Matriarch right away. During the meal, people kept coming up to the main table to toast her.

Claire didn’t drink, so she used tea instead. Whenever someone toasted her, she’d clink her teacup with theirs, always with a smile. Pearce introduced her to everyone, and she tried hard to remember each name. Pandora didn’t even need to help.

The feast was lively, full of laughter and chatter—except at the table where Octavia, Lance, and Cindy sat. The three of them seemed completely out of place, as if they were just watching from the sidelines.

Octavia watched the scene and felt a wave of frustration for her daughter. Cindy had lived here eighteen years, but everyone ignored her, choosing to toast only Claire. It was obvious, wasn’t it? They were leaving Cindy out on purpose.

With a tight jaw, Octavia slammed her bowl onto the table, ready to take her daughter and walk out.

Pandora heard the noise and calmly set her own bowl down. The way she held herself was enough to quiet the entire room, no anger needed. Octavia felt something catch in her chest, her words stuck.

“Claire, go pour your adoptive mother some tea. You should thank her for raising you all these years,” Pandora said.

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