Chapter 78
Calliope's face twisted in confusion. "Why can't I have it?"
She'd heard Sylvester spent money like water on Nina, so why not her? What was the deal?
Sylvester set his glass down on the bar, turned his back, and headed to the bathroom, tossing a casual remark over his shoulder. "You don't need anything, so why do you need money?"
The bathroom door clicked shut, cutting off any further conversation.
Left standing there alone, Calliope found his excuse ridiculous. She muttered to herself, "If you don't want to give it, just say so. Why all the lame excuses?"
This just proved Sylvester never really cared about her. If a guy wasn't willing to spend money on her, how could he claim to like her? People said Sylvester had dropped millions to make Nina famous. Had he forgotten?
Her heart grew cold, and Calliope stopped having any illusions about him. He was just using her for emotional entertainment.
Calliope pursed her lips and glared at the bathroom door. If he didn't love her, fine, but did he have to be so cheap? What a miser!
A few moments later, the gifts Jack had sent arrived, and the servant brought them to her room. She rummaged through them and found a check for ten thousand dollars!
Was this some kind of joke?
Calliope immediately called the Gray family’s number, but no one picked up. It felt like they had planned this, leaving her to deal with the mess.
Staring at the check, Calliope fumed. If they didn't care, why should she? She might as well let Tom make this public; she wouldn't be the one to suffer in the end.
Her eyes drifted to a few paintings in the corner, beautifully framed with a slightly naive style and special characters, likely worth a lot.
What if she sold them?
Calliope glanced at the bathroom door, where the sound of running water indicated Sylvester was enjoying his bath.
A sly smile crept onto her lips. She decided to take a little revenge; she needed an outlet for the pent-up frustration of the past few days.
Suddenly, the sound of something breaking and Calliope's scream filled the air.
The bathroom door swung open, and Sylvester, with wet hair dripping, asked, "What happened?"
"I accidentally broke your painting," Calliope said, feigning innocence and looking flustered.
Sylvester frowned and walked over to see a painting by Maxim deLange, worth about four million dollars, now lying on the ground. Through the shattered glass, the image was heartbreaking.
He instinctively glared at her, ready to scold, but seeing her pitiful look, he smiled helplessly, a smile filled with indescribable emotions.
"Forget it, have it reframed," he said, then walked into the dressing room.
Calliope was surprised by his reaction. Just like that? She couldn't help but ask, "Whose painting is this?"
"Maxim deLange," he lazily answered as he stepped into the dressing room, and the door closed gently behind him.
Maxim deLange?
Calliope quickly searched online and was stunned.
"So expensive!" she exclaimed. A master's work worth millions of dollars!
She realized she was truly broke.
Looking at the broken frame on the ground, she regretted it. She should have chosen a cheaper one to break.
Calliope thought to herself, 'Today he is unexpectedly good-tempered. Is this really the same man who usually scolded and showed no mercy?'
She was deeply confused and conflicted about Sylvester's attitude towards her.
In the afternoon, Calliope went to the hotel where Rose worked, a place of shame for her!
It was said she was born in a restroom there. Rose hadn't planned to have a child, but since the fetus was already seven months old, it was too late for an abortion, and she was born prematurely.
Was it luck or misfortune? Perhaps if she had never been born, she wouldn't be suffering so much now.
"Calliope? Are you here looking for your mom? Wait, she's serving that weirdo," said a flamboyantly dressed woman, a colleague of Rose.
Calliope responded with a nasal sound, inwardly mocking these aging yet still popular women. They did take good care of themselves.
She had been praised for her beauty since childhood, but always with a sigh. She was Rose's daughter, what a pity!
Being the daughter of a prostitute was shameful.
Rose was indeed beautiful; otherwise, how could she have made Jack so infatuated that he almost broke up his family? Nearing forty, she and Calliope looked like sisters.
However, Calliope didn't want to accept this gene, the gene of a prostitute!
She waited in the lobby for a long time before finally reaching Rose on the phone. Rose appeared, disheveled!
As Rose walked towards her, Calliope wished she could leave immediately! She didn't want to admit that this flamboyant woman was her mother!
"What do you want? You're interrupting my work!" Rose lit a cigarette, her crimson nails repulsive.
Calliope suppressed her anger and handed Rose the check. "This is for you, and for Tom. Tell him to stop bothering me!"
"Ten thousand dollars! Where did you get this? I heard you're with a rich guy now?" Rose's eyes lit up at the sight of the check.
Was this the conversation a mother and daughter should have? No wonder Rose clung to David; he was her only light and hope.
"None of your business! I have to go!" Calliope stood up, not looking at her again, and hurried away, afraid someone would know she was related to Rose.
Rose watched her leave, sneering. "What's with the attitude? Without me, would you be here today?"
Then she put the check in her bag.
"Calliope gave you money again, so sweet! Treat me to a meal with that money!" Rose's friend said enviously.
Rose shook her head. "No, I can't touch this money. I have to save it for Calliope's marriage, in case she can't get married. Money opens all doors. Even if they don't want to, they'll treat her well for the money!"
"Haven't you saved a lot for Calliope already? Why save more?"
Rose snorted. "That's nothing! Do you think anyone would want to marry a prostitute's daughter? I want her to be able to hold her head high in the future!"
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