The Girlboss Begs for Remarriage

Hugh sneered. "I heard that Vicky's husband is an indomitable spirit who'd even toppled Sif Lionheart's eldest brother. Your reputation is not undeserved, now that I've seen you." "And who are you?" Frank asked impassively.

"Hugh Turnbull, heir of the Norsedam Turnbulls."

"Watch how you speak with Mr. Turnbull!" Hugh's bodyguard snapped at Frank threateningly right after Hugh finished.

"Norsedam..." Frank murmured, remembering just then.

Norsedam and Riverton were just a bridge apart, but Norsedam was far more prosperous than Riverton.

And the first time he met Sif Lionheart was at an auction in Norsedam, though he was unaware that a branch family of the Turnbulls was based in Norsedam too.

Nodding, Frank asked quietly, "Then to what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Turnbull?"

"Nothing," Hugh said icily. "I just happened to run into you, but I should remind you that as a son-in-law of the Turnbull family, you should maintain an ounce of dignity instead of getting caught by some street thug's ploy. It doesn't matter to me if you live or die, but the Turnbulls have a reputation to maintain. Do you understand?"

"I see. Thank you so much for your concern," Frank replied before chuckling coolly. "And I have a piece of advice in return-keep a leash on your dog. Letting it yap at anyone will hurt the Turnbulls' reputation too."

With that, Frank turned to leave.

"You bastard!"

The bodyguard who snapped Frank knew that Frank was mocking him and was ready to attack out when Hugh stopped him.

"Calm down," Hugh said as he watched Frank leave, murmuring, "We have plenty of opportunities to deal with him. He killed Sif Lionheart-and I will have my revenge."NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

Frank was chuckling under his breath, sensing the obvious hostile glares from his back.

Heir of the Norsedam Turnbulls? Who cared-mess with Frank, and he would regret it.

For Frank's part, he was not playing nice with Hugh because he was prying, and that he could sense Hugh's enmity early on. Shaking his head and forgetting the distraction, Frank trudged along with the crowd, looking around at the stalls for antiques. Still, he had walked a lap around Blooming Junction, but none of the antiques were catching his eye.

Nine out of ten were counterfeit items, and the remaining genuine item was still nothing impressive.

Just as Frank felt bored and was about to leave, a store clerk who had been following Frank for around ten minutes approached him.

"Sir," he whispered into Frank's ear, "I

can see that you have a sharp eye with the way you picked up genuine antiques, only to shake your head in disappointment. I'm guessing you want the real deal-something that really stands out?"

"Hmm...?"

Frank turned to glance at the man wearing a vest and shook his head. "Well, you're right that I'm disappointed. They call this street the Blooming Junction, but there's nothing exciting here at all

"Oh, that's not quite right..."

The store clerk chuckled. "What respectable businessman would bring out their treasures for all the world to see? Just think about it. If some humble stall owner somehow had a real gem among their wares, what would happen to him?