"Don't think I don't know what you're plotting," Sophie Nye shrieked.
Isabella Bradford laughed scornfully, "Don't think everyone is as filthy as you; your husband died, and you use your son's influence. Only a heartless mother like you can do such a thing."
"You want to use—but where's your son? Where is he?" Sophie Nye mocked coldly.
Isabella Bradford's face stiffened for a moment, her fingers quietly clenched, and she took a deep breath, "Sophie Nye, I don't want to argue with you. Haven't you already gotten what you wanted? Why are you still arguing with me here? Are you trying to flaunt what you already have, or are you afraid? Afraid these things won't belong to you soon?"
"You!" Sophie Nye snapped in anger.
Isabella Bradford ignored her and left.
