Lauren’s smile faltered. “We don’t want your money,” Clara said firmly. “We don’t want your gowns. And we don’t want YOU.”
Emma lifted the envelope high, then tore it open and threw the bills into the air. Money fluttered out, cascading down like confetti. The bills drifted and scattered across the floor on Lauren’s expensive shoes.
“You can keep it,” Emma declared. “We’re not for sale.”
Lauren’s face twisted with rage. “You ungrateful… Do you have any idea what I’m offering you? Do you know who I am now? I’m famous! I’ve worked for 18 years to build a career, to make something of myself!”
“For yourself,” I cut in. “You did it for yourself.”
“And now you want to use them to look like a devoted mother,” Clara finished, her voice cutting. “We’re not your props.”
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