The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet novel Chapter 1470

The three people in the room turned as Thalassa entered.

Rosalind rose gracefully, a practiced smile playing on her lips. "Thalassa," she cooed, her voice honeyed with charm, "I didn't mean it that way. You've been such a help to Lysander and the Sinclairs. I'm sure they'll show their gratitude. You don't need to worry about any benefits from us. Compared to the Sinclairs, what could we possibly offer?"

Rosalind had a way with words, and as she locked eyes with Thalassa, her gaze was liquid warmth, her smile brimming with intellect. It was a display of breeding in every nuanced expression.

When Thalassa had first met Rosalind three years ago, she was struck by her poise, her elegance, and her well-read charm.

She was everything Thalassa felt she could never be.

Back when Isabella Everhart and Faye Brennan taunted Thalassa, calling her a bumpkin, she hadn't cared much. She had written them off as mean-spirited, targeting her out of spite. But after meeting Rosalind, with her air of cultured grace and the unmistakable scent of academia about her, Thalassa truly understood what it meant to be refined, to be a true lady raised in a world of privilege and high education.

Standing before Rosalind, Thalassa couldn't help but feel like the epitome of a bumpkin.

Even now, as Rosalind had muttered a complaint to Joshua, she seamlessly shifted her demeanor when facing Thalassa, elevating her while slyly belittling her in the process.

Everybody knew Thalassa's role with the Sinclairs was hardly official; she was not Lysander's wife. Her position was precarious at best, and the idea of receiving benefits from them was a stretch.

Thalassa met Rosalind's gaze with a cool smile. "Thank you for your concern, dear Rosalind, but I'm quite capable of fending for myself without any handouts."

"Of course," Rosalind replied, the picture of modesty. "You grew up in the countryside, handling everything life threw at you. You've weathered more storms than I've seen rainy days. I only know my arts and languages—beyond that, I'm practically helpless."

Thalassa was speechless. Any attempt to argue would make her appear ungracious.

"Come now, let's not stand on ceremony. The meal's ready," Joshua chimed in, gesturing for Thalassa to take a seat at the dining table.

Rosalind exchanged a knowing look with her mother, Matilda. Their silent communication was a testament to their bond.

At the table, Joshua took the head seat, with Thalassa on the shorter side. Matilda and Rosalind sat opposite him, their placement clearly delineating family from outsider.

Joshua served Thalassa a generous helping of braised beef—tender and glistening with a rich, savory glaze. "Eat up, Thalassa. You're too thin," he said with a smile.

Though it was a sumptuous dish, Thalassa felt a twinge of discomfort accepting it from Joshua. Despite being her biological father, they shared no real emotional connection.

Furthermore, a deep-rooted fear of her father lingered in her heart. She never reached out to Joshua and was wary of any kindness he showed.

Instead of the beef, Thalassa picked up a piece of steamed broccoli, biting into it with a crunch. "I've always preferred lighter meals," she explained. "Meat just isn't my thing."