She most longed for Vivian to return and be by her side.
"Let's wait and see."
Vivian lifted her head, her tone still calm.
She still clearly remembers the scene from five years ago when Lynn Shaw helped grandma force her out.
That day it was drizzling.
Mother stood at the door: "Vivian, you must leave, it's for your own good."
She didn't understand why her biological mother would side with Mrs. Prescott.
She no longer resented her mother as much as before.
But those wounds aren't something one can forget easily.
Lynn Shaw wanted to persuade her further, but upon seeing several important guests enter, she had to let go of her daughter's hand and whisper advice.
"Mrs. Prescott is legally your grandma. No matter how she treated you in the past, you need to light incense and shed a few tears, at least for appearances' sake."
As she spoke, she glanced sideways at the guests in dark suits at the door.
Lynn Shaw didn't dare take risks, and certainly didn't want her daughter to make any mistakes at this critical moment.
She knew Vivian was stubborn and was fully aware of her lack of affection towards the Prescott Family and Mrs. Prescott.
In their circle, appearances are paramount, especially filial piety.
A child with a unique status like Vivian, if she acted coldly, outsiders would only say she was heartless.
Lynn Shaw understood these unwritten rules well.
So she preferred for her daughter to feel a bit aggrieved.
Vivian stepped into the mourning hall, and at once saw Francis Prescott, softly calling out: "Uncle Hawthorne."
Candlelight flickered in the mourning hall, mingling with the scent of incense.
The black-and-white portrait hung at the center, showing Mrs. Prescott smiling serenely.
Vivian's gaze passed through the crowd, landing on the man in a black suit.
Francis Prescott was bowing his head, adjusting the ribbon on the wreaths.
He hesitated slightly upon hearing the voice, then slowly turned around.
Her father passed away when she was ten. Grandparents were long gone, leaving her uncared for, before she was taken to the Prescott Family.
That year, she was still in fourth grade.
Relatives passed responsibility between themselves, none willing to take her in.
Eventually, it was Francis Prescott who begrudgingly agreed to take her in, for the sake of his wife Lynn Shaw.
This stepfather couldn't be described as loving, nor abusive.
He never hit or scolded her, nor deliberately made life difficult.
But he also didn't actively care whether she was cold or hungry.
If describing it, it would probably be as if she was "invisible."
Most times, he acted like she didn't exist.
Francis Prescott saw her enter, paused for a few seconds, and barely smiled.
"You've returned."
"Yes, come to light incense for grandma."
Vivian responded calmly.
After speaking, she turned to walk towards the altar.
"Good child."
Vivian knelt on the mat, carefully lit an incense stick.
When it was time to cry, a scene suddenly flashed in her mind.
On her first day at the Prescott Family, Mrs. Prescott had taken her in her arms, touching her hair, smiling and saying, "Our little Vivian has big earlobes and will surely have good fortune in the future."
When she first met this "grandma," she was a bit reserved.
But as soon as Mrs. Prescott saw her, she stretched out her arms to embrace her.
At that moment, she once thought she had finally found a home.
Nearby, a guest saw her eyes turning red and came over to hand her a tissue, softly saying: "You're Lynn's daughter, right? Haven't seen you in years, but you're back this time to see Mrs. Prescott off, how sensible."
A woman in her fifties, wearing a simple black cheongsam.
Vivian took the tissue, gently wiping the corner of her eye, and whispered, "Thank you."
"It's been five years, you've become even more graceful."
Vivian paused briefly, instinctively blinking.
Then she raised her head, carefully observing the person in front of her.
Slowly, she recalled that the elegant woman before her was Mrs. Sterling.
The Sterling Family in Torval, undeniably a top-tier prestigious clan.
Generations of commerce, extensive contacts, deeply rooted, few can match.
In both political and business circles, mentioning the Sterling Family commands respect.
Mrs. Sterling, as the head matriarch, rarely appeared in public and acted discreetly.
Vivian intended to respond with some polite words.
But suddenly heard a voice coming from behind.
"Mom, we should be going."
Her heart tightened, she immediately turned her head.
As her sight shifted, it collided into a pair of brown eyes.
The man had strikingly vibrant eyes, prominent brow bones, a gaze deep yet bright.
His facial structure was sharp, with well-defined features, a straight nose, and a small mole under one nostril, adding a touch of wildness.
He wore a black shirt, sleeves casually rolled, with one hand draped over a jacket, wide shoulders and narrow waist.
The whole person appeared both casual and exceedingly dignified.
His gaze when passing over her seemed indifferent, yet it was as though he was silently observing.
Vivian lowered her head, eyelashes quivering slightly, uncertain whether to greet him.
After all, Julian Sterling, the eldest son of the Sterling Family, was famously aloof and hard to deal with.
After contemplating for a moment, she chose to remain silent.
It was Mrs. Sterling who smiled at her.
She spoke gently: "Vivian, Julian and I will be heading off now, take care."
"Yes, take care as you leave."
Vivian responded softly.
She still did not look towards Julian Sterling, merely lifting her head slightly, nodding courteously to Mrs. Sterling.
Only when the two had walked away did Vivian quietly breathe a sigh of relief.
After the funeral ended, Lynn Shaw had dealt with all matters and sent off the last batch of guests, finally finding time.
She walked over to Vivian, gently patting her shoulder.
"Come on, I'll take you to sit in the living room, don't stand here alone."
The two walked side by side towards the living room.
The Serene Vista villa was exceedingly spacious.
Besides Francis Prescott's family, it also housed Curtis Prescott.
He was Mrs. Prescott's youngest son's son, slightly older than her, calm in demeanor, rarely seen, yet always remaining here.
Mrs. Prescott had five children, three daughters and two sons.
The eldest daughter married far abroad, seldom returning.
The second daughter was Vivian's mother, who passed away years ago.
The youngest daughter now lived in the eastern city, occasionally returning to visit her mother.
Among the sons, the eldest son Francis Prescott sat at the helm of the family business, managing the overall operations.
The youngest son Hale Prescott studied abroad early on, now settled overseas, leaving his son Curtis Prescott in Torval to oversee family affairs.
Curtis Prescott was her late-in-life son, raised dotingly within the family.
Following Lynn Shaw inside, Vivian immediately saw Curtis Prescott seated on the sofa.
He was bowing his head, swiftly sliding his slender fingers across the phone screen.
Her gaze slightly darkened.
Just as she prepared to find a corner to sit, her eyes caught a glimpse of Zeke Prescott nearby.
Her body instantly tensed up, quickly and unobtrusively moving aside, softly calling out: "Older Brother."
Zeke Prescott crossed his legs, eyes lifting from the phone, carelessly glancing at her.
Vivian had long grown accustomed.