Prosperous Marriage: Married to My Brother-in-law

Rachel raised an eyebrow. She didn't immediately confirm she was Rachel, instead asking, "Are you looking for her for something?"

Floyd observed Rachel closely, a hint of puzzlement in his eyes. The girl was indeed petite, not very tall, and quite slender. She appeared even more diminutive in his presence. His height was similar to the Young Master's. No wonder Madam Ruiz had dismissed her with a single glance.

Her features were ordinary—not ugly. But girls like her were a dime a dozen; turn your head on the street, and most girls looked just like her, with nothing particularly outstanding. Her eyes, however, were very bright, like two sparkling black pearls. What kind of family was the Ruiz Family? A girl like her, with no family background and ordinary looks, probably wouldn't be able to enter the gates of the Ruiz Family, even with the Young Master's special favor.

Floyd sighed inwardly. It seems getting the Young Master to return to the Ruiz Family will be difficult.

"If you are Miss Rachel, please come with me. My madam is waiting to see you at the Emperor hotel," Floyd said mildly, then turned and walked towards the car. Rachel hadn't answered directly, so he offered no further explanation. By stating the reason, he expected her to admit her identity.

His madam? Who could his madam be?

Rachel hurried after Floyd, stopping him just before he got into the car. "Sir, may I ask who your madam is?" she asked curiously. "Why does she want to see me?"

She had indirectly answered Floyd's earlier question.

"My madam is Young Master Hansen Ruiz's mother." As Floyd said this, his eyes grew exceptionally sharp. He stared intently at Rachel, trying to discern her thoughts and determine if she was someone who coveted the Ruiz Family's wealth and power.

Floyd was disappointed.

Hearing it was Hansen's mother, and that Floyd called Hansen "Young Master," Rachel immediately guessed Hansen's family background was indeed not simple. To be called "Young Master" meant his family was considerably wealthy. That damned guy! He talked about wanting to build a bridge to my path, yet he never even told me his real identity. What kind of bridge was he talking about? I don't want to climb such an overpass! If it's poorly built and collapses, wouldn't I be smashed to bits?

"Sir, I'm sorry. Hansen and I are just ordinary friends. I don't think there's any need for me to meet your madam," Rachel said. I'm not a fool. How could I not guess this kind of plot, so common in TV dramas? The Ruiz Family must know about Hansen's feelings for me. Mrs. Ruiz is probably here to get rid of me, and she'll likely spout a load of nonsense about me not being good enough. I haven't even agreed to date Hansen. I don't want to listen to that kind of forced nonsense.

Rachel turned and started to walk away. She wanted nothing to do with any person or matter connected to Hansen.

"Miss Rachel, my madam is a person who never gives up until she achieves her goal," Floyd said coolly as she turned, without trying to stop her.

The meaning was clear: Rachel could avoid meeting Mrs. Ruiz today, but Mrs. Ruiz would keep bothering her every day until she agreed to meet.

Rachel stopped. Hansen's perpetually grinning, lecherous face floated into her mind. Involuntarily, she also recalled his kindness to her, and his domineering, forceful kiss. Fine. Since his mother has come looking for me, what's the harm in meeting her? Anyway, I have a clear conscience. I wouldn't be afraid even if I had to meet the King of Heaven himself! It's not like I'm the one pestering Hansen; he's the one pestering me!

Without another word, she turned, got into the luxury sedan, and let Floyd take her to the Emperor hotel.

Mrs. Ruiz had booked a rather luxurious suite at the Emperor hotel as her temporary lodging. The journey had tired her a little.

Currently, she was lounging on the sofa, leisurely manicuring her nails. Her well-maintained face still held traces of her youthful beauty, and her entire demeanor exuded an imposing, noble aura. When Floyd brought Rachel in, Mrs. Ruiz glanced up at her coldly. Her eyes were full of disapproval, even disgust. Rachel hated that kind of look, as if she were some sort of disreputable woman.

I don't steal, I don't rob, and I don't sell my body. What right does Mrs. Ruiz have to look at me with disgust the moment she sees me?

What angered Rachel even more was when Mrs. Ruiz pushed a bottle of nail polish in front of her and ordered, in a tone one would use with a servant, "You're just in time. Apply my nail polish for me."

Rachel stood up straight. Mrs. Ruiz hadn't invited her to sit, and she didn't want to sit down on her own initiative, lest she be accused of having no manners. Hearing Mrs. Ruiz's words, Rachel thought, Even if Mrs. Ruiz is well-maintained, she must be nearly sixty, right? Why is she still using nail polish? However, when she considered that rich people always found ways to spend money on making themselves beautiful, she no longer found it strange.

When Mrs. Ruiz asked her to apply the nail polish, Rachel's expression remained calm, concealing the fury simmering in her heart. She smiled faintly and replied with a hint of apology, "Madam, I'm sorry, I don't know how."

Even if she knew how, she wouldn't do it for Mrs. Ruiz. She was not Mrs. Ruiz's servant.

"True. A woman from the countryside wouldn't have the time or money for such things. You're Rachel, aren't you? Do you know how much this nail polish of mine costs? Your parents probably couldn't earn the money for this bottle even if they farmed for a whole year." Mrs. Ruiz took back the nail polish and began applying it herself with elegant movements. A gentle smile, which made her look somewhat like Hansen, remained on her well-maintained face. Outwardly, Mrs. Ruiz appeared to be a dignified and noble lady from a prestigious family, but the words that came from her mouth were always tinged with ridicule, mocking Rachel's lowly birth.

Rachel's impression of Hansen's mother had thoroughly soured. So what if she's wealthy? Does that give her the right to bully me for being from the countryside? And to look down on farmers like that? Don't rich people need to eat? Are they supposed to eat money?

"Yes, Madam, you are rich," Rachel replied, her voice even. "But no matter how rich you are, you still have to eat the rice grown by country folk. You can't eat money instead of food, can you?"