Grace Winslow brushed off the non-existent dust from her clothes and stood up. "Straighten everything up and clean this mourning hall for me."
"On what grounds? Who the hell do you think you are? You little bastard born from an old one! I'm telling you, get the hell out right now, or don't blame me for what happens next." Lydia Sawyer had no intention of listening to Grace, pointing a finger right in her face as she cursed.
How could Nolan Winslow and Brandon Winslow possibly tolerate this? They looked like they were about to make a move.
Grace Winslow raised a hand to stop them. "On what grounds?"
"Because this house is mine. You're standing in my house, so tell me, don't I have the right to kick you out?"
Lydia Sawyer froze, then shrieked, "Impossible!"
"How could that old hag have sold this house? You say it's yours, so where's your proof?"
Grace Winslow scoffed. "Why would I show you any proof? What makes you think I have to prove anything to you?"
