"Josephine!" Henry Hargrave scolded unhappily, "Can't you be a bit more considerate when you speak? No matter how flawed Beatrice is, she's still my daughter, carrying half of my blood."
"Humph!" Josephine Hawthorne sneered coldly, crossed her arms, and turned her face to the side, mocking, "What half your blood, at the end of the day, you still haven't forgotten that wench!"
"What nonsense are you spouting!" Henry Hargrave slapped the armrest of the sofa in rage. Josephine didn't back down either, turned her face back towards him and leaned in, squinting her eyes as she retorted,
"Nonsense? Henry, if that wench had given you a son back then, would you dare say you wouldn't have legitimized her? It's a pity, heaven had eyes, and so that wench gave birth to a daughter too. That's why I managed to maintain our status as mother and daughter. Henry, you can't deny it, after all these years as a couple, I know your intentions crystal clear!"
