"A bodyguard? Wow, that's quite high-standard," Penelope Talkington mocked at the other end of the phone, "You really are latching onto a big tree."
Victoria Talkington was still alive, and not just alive, but living so comfortably, which was the greatest "pain" for Penelope Talkington.
Since childhood, she had always regarded herself as Miss Talkington and the real daughter of the Talkington family.
Victoria and the like being adopted by their family was a great blessing. She was only fit to wear tattered clothes and eat cabbage buns in the servant quarters.
But this adopted sister grew more beautiful than her, studied better than her, and was even more popular than her.
Penelope's mentality was even more warped than a large screw.
Seven years ago, when she put a love potion in the drink, she already had a "tragic script" in her mind for Victoria's future life.
