That cold, indifferent tone instantly shattered whatever tension had momentarily built up.
Figures.
That jerk really doesn’t deserve to have a mouth.
Amelia reluctantly walked over, voice low.
“That was white truffle…
you promised me, remember?”
At her words, Eric finally looked up from his files, eyes settling on her face.
Still the same delicate features, soft-spoken and demure at first glance—nothing seemed to have changed.
But Eric knew better.
That gentleness?
Pure act.
Behind that calm look stood no obedient little bunny, but a wildcat ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.
He leaned back lazily in his chair, narrowed his phoenix eyes slightly, raised an eyebrow.
“Huh?
What exactly did I promise?”
Amelia froze.
She clearly didn’t expect him to play dumb.
Gritting her teeth, she said, “You said if I went with you to welcome your sister back, you’d pass this along for me.”
“Oh, right.
That rings a bell.” Eric acted like the memory finally returned.
Amelia had just started to feel relieved when he added, “But then I thought, we’re about to get divorced.
No reason I should still accept pricey gifts from the Carters.
Let’s skip it.”
“It’s not that expensive,” she tried again, going for reason, “Plus we’re ending things on good terms.
It’s fine for family friends to exchange gifts, isn’t it?”
Eric let out a quiet, mocking laugh.
“On good terms?
Thought the story was that our marriage ended because the husband couldn’t perform and the wife had unmet needs?”
Seriously?
Still clinging to that?
This man and his fragile ego!
Just because she’d once said he wasn’t up to the task, now he’s dragging it out like it’s personal.
She opened her mouth to explain, but Eric cut her off again.
“Got a call early this morning.
Male clinic wanted to confirm a phone consult,” he said blandly.
“Asked what kind of dysfunction I had.
As the person with firsthand experience, why didn’t you give them the full breakdown, hmm?”
Crap.
She’d totally forgotten she’d made that appointment for him in a fit of rage.
Of all days for them to follow up—why today?
She let out a dry laugh.
“Mr.
Reeves, maybe we could…
talk about something else?”
“Low libido?”
Amelia: “…”
“Erectile dysfunction?”
Amelia: “…”
He smiled wider, though there was zero warmth behind it.
“Or is it just a stamina issue?
Which part exactly left my wife so dissatisfied she called in a specialist?”
Amelia: “…Mr.
Reeves…
I mean, we’re getting a divorce anyway.
Can’t we just let it go?”
“Oh, I think it matters,” Eric said, giving her a slow once-over.
“If I don’t even understand your reasoning, how am I supposed to agree to your little divorce plan?”
Amelia could tell he was deliberately messing with her now.
No question—he was still pissed about the previous divorce deal.
Taking a breath, she backed down.
“If that reason doesn’t sit right with you, we can change it.
Irreconcilable differences?
No emotional connection?
Pick one.”
Eric looked back at her, deadpan.
“Oh?
No emotional connection?
And yet you still bring me home-cooked lunches?
Come on, Amelia, don’t insult both our intelligence.”
“That lunch was just—”
“Oh, and a private pic too.” Eric pulled out his phone and waved it in front of Amelia, showing the photo she’d just had the front desk guy snap of her downstairs in front of the Jeson Group building.
She knew she had to go big to get through the door—no way Eric would’ve let her up otherwise.
So she ditched her coat and posed in that body-hugging off-shoulder white dress, then sent it straight to him, asking if it was suitable for her social media.
The real message?
If he didn’t let her in, she’d post it.
Let the whole world see.
Jeson’s image would take a hit—and wouldn’t that just embarrass him?
But now, hearing him say “private pic,” it actually threw her.
“Mr.
Reeves, that doesn’t count as—”
Eric cut her off, still staring at the photo.
“You’re right.
It’s over-edited.
Didn’t think you were this flat—weren’t you an A?”
Amelia’s face darkened.
Excuse me?
She was a solid C, thank you very much.
Who did he think he was mocking?
She clenched her teeth.
“Can we talk about something serious?
Like, when are we getting divorced?”
He glanced at her.
You didn’t show.”
“I had something important come up that day—”
“What was it?”
Her lips tightened.
She wasn’t about to tell him her mom was in critical condition.
When he stopped being someone she could lean on, she no longer wanted to show him her vulnerable side.
Even if she did, he’d probably just say she was making excuses to avoid the divorce.
After a pause, she tried again.
“We can reschedule.
Pick a time, I’ll work around it.”
Eric stared at her for a moment, then said coolly, “Just so you know, once we’re divorced, everything you enjoyed as Mrs.
Reeves?
Gone.
The quarterly jewelry and fashion drops, limited-edition Hermès collections, and those holiday gift sets from your precious equestrian club.
Still ready to sign those papers?”
Each item he listed felt like a jab to her chest.
Yeah, it stung—she’d miss those things for sure.
But sticking around, living like roommates who hate each other in a marriage that felt like a coffin?
No, thanks.
Biting the bullet, she said, “Let’s just do it.” Better rip the Band-Aid now.
She could earn that stuff back someday.
Eric’s eyes dimmed a little.
“So when can we go file the papers?” She was basically itching to get it over with now.
Eric didn’t even bother looking at her.
“Whenever I find time.”
“And when would that be?”
He leaned back in his chair and muttered coldly, “You’ll be informed when that happens.”
What kind of half-assed answer was that?
If he kept claiming he was too busy, were they just stuck in limbo?
“So roughly when?”
Eric shot her a look, already sounding irritated.
“What’s the rush?
Afraid I’ll change my mind?
Don’t flatter yourself, Amelia.”
Amelia didn’t even say anything, what was he snarking for?
Such a jerk.
After that, he completely ignored her, opening his lunch box and digging in like she wasn’t even there.
Braised pork, stir-fried greens, and a heart-shaped sunny-side-up egg on top.
(Apparently the kitchen only had one mold.)
He paused for a second.
His face actually looked a bit lighter.
Amelia noticed too.
Maybe Lucas was right—Eric really was easier to deal with after he’d eaten.
“Mr.
Reeves?
How’s the taste?”
Eric picked up a piece of pork, shot her a side-eye, and said, “Way too sweet.
Sugar must be free these days.”