Chapter 397 Catherine, Quick! Catch Them in the Act!
The Evergreen Group was a household name in Imperia City. Even Sloane's own home had been built by one of their luxury developments.
For a split second, her perfectly composed face twisted. "What did you just say? Gabriella's suitor isn't some corporate giant. He's a humble mechanic. I like men who keep their feet on the ground."
Emma leaned against the doorframe, her tone light but her eyes sharp. "I'm not joking. Gabriella is about to marry Mr. Windsor."
She took out her phone and swiped to a photo — Gabriella and Charles seated together in a warmly lit restaurant.
Amber light pooled over them like molten gold. Charles was on his feet, draping his tailored jacket over Gabriella's shoulders with an ease that spoke of intimacy.
The shot had been taken by Charles's secretary, purely by chance, and sent to him. Charles had kept it. When Emma asked for a picture, he sent her this one.
Sloane recognized the outfit instantly. Gabriella had worn it just days ago.
"Mrs. Gray," Emma said softly, "you're in luck. Mr. Windsor treats Gabriella like gold. With his wealth, she'll never have to worry about a thing."
Sloane's eyes stayed locked on the image. Eyes don't lie. Charles's gaze was warm, his posture refined, every inch the man of quiet power. The last time she'd seen him was in the news — and she knew exactly how rarefied his world was.
Years ago, she'd worked hard to separate Gabriella from him. Now he was back. That ungrateful girl must have kept in contact behind her back.
"This is unacceptable! Gabriella is not worthy of him! I forbid it!"
"Why?" Emma tilted her head. "Women are lining up to marry him."
Sloane's voice sharpened to a blade. "Gabriella is full of flaws. Her taste is atrocious, her health is fragile, and she can't have children — thanks to her sleeping around with other men. She's filthy. She has no right to marry into the Windsor family."
Catherine's voice cut through the air, cold and precise. "Isn't it a little inappropriate to speak about your daughter that way?"
"Inappropriate? I'm her mother. I know her better than anyone. She's rotten to the core, a cheap woman who can't bear children. Such a woman has no place beside Mr. Windsor."
"Mr. Windsor says he doesn't care," Catherine replied evenly. "Children aren't important to him."
It was like flipping a switch in Sloane's head. Her composure shattered. She clutched her head and screamed. "No! Absolutely not! They're all snakes. Only I have Gabriella's best interests at heart!"
She fumbled for her phone, dialing Gabriella over and over — ten calls, fifteen — no answer.
Her voice cracked into a shriek. "Ungrateful! I raised her, sacrificed everything, not so she could go seducing men!"
Catherine didn't flinch. She stamped the psychiatric evaluation with Gavin's seal — she'd taken the stamp to save herself the trouble of chasing him down for signatures.
Gavin didn't mind; he liked seeing the drama firsthand. Catherine just found him irritating.
"All right," she said. "We can call the psychiatric unit now. Aggressive, verbally abusive, compulsively lying, controlling, playing the victim, no sense of boundaries, unable to accept her daughter doing better than her — classic symptoms.
"And the somatization of her disorder, plus severe aggression, is more than enough to keep her in the hospital."
When Sloane realized they meant to commit her, panic surged. "I'm just a mother who gave up everything to make my children better! I've done nothing wrong! You're all monsters — you want to tear me away from my child forever!"
Her voice broke into wild sobs.
Catherine stepped forward, catching Sloane's arm mid-swing. "If you have a problem, take it up with the police."
Emma watched calmly as the orderlies led Sloane away, waving the signed report like a victory flag.
Philip's gaze followed the uniformed figure at the end of the hallway. "That doctor... doesn't she look like Catherine?"
Emma clapped him on the shoulder. "Stop stalling. You're coming home with me for dinner."
"You really don't think that doctor looks like Catherine?"
"Ms. Windsor here? What, you think she's here to treat your nervous breakdown?"
Philip's fists clenched. He knew he couldn't win a fight against Emma — the violent hurricane that she was — so he just shook his fist at her retreating back and followed.
"So just because you mentioned Charles, her mother freaked out?"
"Most NPD patients can't stand their daughters living better than they do," Emma said, biting into her lollipop. "Why do you think she set Gabriella up with a mechanic? Because he's beneath her.
"For women, most of life's misery comes from marriage. If Gabriella marries the wrong man, she's stuck in the rut for life. That's total control."
Philip frowned. "You studied psychology?"
Emma shrugged. "No. My dad has the same disorder. I know it inside out."
She added, "Luckily my family values profit over control. They'd never marry me off to a garbage man. So you're lucky."
He opened his mouth to argue, but Emma stretched like a cat, laughed twice, and strode out of the hospital. Philip realized — he had never once won an argument with her.
Quinn Couture Studio.
Natalia had just received a shipment of new fabrics. Simon craned his neck, waiting for them to be brought in. Among them was the material for Catherine's engagement gown, and for Natalia's upcoming Fashion Week piece. Nothing could go wrong.
Half an hour passed. Simon grew restless and decided to drive out to meet the delivery himself. If anything happened to the fabric, Catherine would skin him alive and turn him into a suit.
Ten minutes later, crouched behind a corner like a thief, Simon called Catherine. His voice came in a conspiratorial whisper. "Ms. Windsor... I think I just saw Alexander on a date with another woman."
"Don't talk nonsense."
Simon blinked. He was sure it was Alexander — and there was a child with him. Alexander with a kid? Since when?
Catherine pressed her fingers to her temple. "Anything else?"
"There's a kid messing around near our fabric. What if he pees on it?"
"Send me the address."
Simon perked up. "Are you coming to catch him in the act?"
"No," Catherine said flatly. "I'm coming to strip your skin, dye it, and turn it into fabric."
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