Amidst the opulent mothers, Xie Weihuan unwittingly became the nucleus of their whispered scandals. "Poor Mrs. Qiao, blindsided by her own maid's betrayal," one confided, the glee in her voice thinly veiled.

"Her husband's affections were a gift to the maid, not his wife. How tragically misplaced," chimed in another, their faux sympathy a bitter undercurrent.

"The maid's expecting, and there's talk of marriage. Mrs. Qiao's descent into social oblivion is all but assured," the whispers crescendoed, a symphony of schadenfreude.

Stolen novel; please report.

In this maelstrom of gossip, Xie Weihuan's composure wavered, her clenched hands betraying the storm within.

As the day waned and the school bell tolled, I drifted past the engrossed mothers, catching Xie Weihuan's wary eye. "Shuang Shuang, what brings you here? Coveting my son?" she accused, her voice a clarion call that drew the attention of her peers.

Their scrutinizing gaze turned my way as Xie Weihuan launched into a tirade, "A mere tutor, dismissed and desperate. She sought to insinuate herself into the affections of my husband and son. Shameless!"

Her public rebuke was a gift, unwittingly weaving the first thread of her unraveling. As she retreated, besieged by whispered judgments, the stage was set for her downfall.