She just said all that, and Amelia’s brain actually went straight to how to reclaim assets?
Chloe stared at her in disbelief.
“Amelia, are you seriously okay in the head?
I told you Eric doesn’t love you, I’m carrying his child now, and you’re still clinging to the title of Mrs.
Reeves like your life depends on it?
Don’t you feel the slightest bit shameless?”
Amelia let out a soft chuckle.
“Ms.
Harper, you’re a public figure.
Ever think what would happen if I posted all this drama online?
The whole ‘man-stealer pressuring the wife to divorce’ thing would wreck that polished persona of yours.
Years of effort gone in a second.
You’d be hit with a sky-high breach fee too.
Sound worth it to you?”
But Chloe wasn’t rattled one bit.
She smirked with full confidence.
“Amelia, I’ve been in the industry for years.
What kind of gossip haven’t I seen?
Like that whole car accident mess last time—blown up like crazy, but in the end?
Barely made a ripple.
You know why?
Because of Eric.
Who else could fix that for me?
Sure, I lost a month of media time, but I walked away with a voice acting deal for The Legend.”
Amelia’s smile slowly faded.
“Voice acting for what?”
“The Legend.
Just some lame game—” Chloe rolled her eyes.
“Why am I even telling you this?
Listen, you should just leave on your own.
Once I’m showing, you’re the one getting tossed out.
Even if his grandmother doesn’t like it, you think she’d let Reeves family blood be raised outside the house?”
Amelia’s hands started shaking, a chill creeping up her spine.
No wonder he showed up at LY Interactive that day.
No wonder the deal that was practically signed suddenly fell apart.
So that’s it—he took that contract away from her and handed it to someone else to earn brownie points?
Eric, did you ever respect me at all?
Seeing Amelia’s pale face go stiff, Chloe thought she’d finally hit her where it hurt.
She twisted the knife deeper, smugly throwing out, “Let me be real with you—Margaret already knows I’m pregnant.
She told me if it’s a boy, she’ll make sure Eric marries me.
Once I step in, the whole Reeves family will be backing me.
You think anyone’s still on your side then?”
Amelia’s eyes turned bloodshot, her face drained of color.
She stared Chloe down coldly and spat one word: “Leave.”
Chloe had made her point and wasn’t planning to stick around.
*****
The Reeves Estate.
10:30 p.
m.
Rain had been falling nonstop since a little after 2 p.
m., still going strong with no sign of letting up.
The window in the study was left half open, the steady patter of rain creating a quiet backdrop.
Eric liked working or reading in silence—it gave him better focus.
But lately, when it got too quiet, he found it oddly hard to stay on task.
Back when Amelia was around, he’d repeatedly warned her not to come into his study while he was working, but she never really listened.
She’d show up with fruit or maybe a glass of warm milk, then claim she was just tidying up or offer to rub his shoulders, finding every excuse to hang around.
After a while, if she wouldn’t leave, he’d just give up and let her stay—as long as she didn’t make any noise.
She always said she’d be quiet, but it never lasted more than a few minutes before she started sighing like the world owed her something.
When it got on his nerves and he asked what was up, she’d flash that bright-eyed look and go on about how neat his handwriting was, how impressive it was he could make sense of all that weird data…
She made it sound like neat handwriting and understanding a stack of files was some top-tier achievement.
Back then, he used to think she was a bit too chatty.
Now, with her silence, things felt weirdly empty.
The noise outside the window didn’t help distract him.
It wasn’t what he really wanted to hear.
Knock knock—
The tapping on the door broke through his thoughts.
Eric blinked back to the present and said flatly, “Come in.”
The housekeeper entered carrying a cup.
“Sir, your hawthorn jujube tea is ready.
I’ve brought you a bowl.”
Eric took off his glasses and rubbed the corners of his eyes, expression worn.
“Thanks.
Just leave it.”
The housekeeper set the cup down and quietly exited.
Eric picked up the tea and took a small sip.
His brows furrowed immediately.
It didn’t taste like it used to—way more sour, made his stomach turn a bit.
He placed the tea aside and reached for a book, but then his phone buzzed.
He glanced down.
Unknown number.
He let it ring out.
But before long, the same number called again.
This time, he slowly answered.
“Hello?
Are you Mr.
Bast?
Your wife got drunk at our bar.
Could you come pick her up?”
“You’ve got the wrong number.” Eric said plainly and cut the call.
Frowning now, he answered again.
“Nope, definitely not wrong.
She gave us this number herself.
Mr.
Bast, is your wife home?
How can you be so sure it’s not her?”
“I’m not Mr.
Bast,” Eric said, clearly annoyed, and hung up.
The phone stayed silent after that, but a few minutes later, a photo came through via text.
The lighting in the picture was low, but even so, the woman slumped over the bar, dead drunk, was unmistakably Amelia.
Eric’s gaze darkened.
He immediately dialed back, voice low and steady.
“Where’s the bar located?”
*****
“Where’s my drink?”
Amelia squinted, shaking an empty glass.
Her words were slow and slurred.
“Who drank my wine?”
The bartender handed her a glass of water, coaxing.
“Here you go, another drink.”
Amelia giggled, taking a big gulp like a child.
The next second, she spat it all out.
She glared, clearly displeased.
“You tricked me with water?
Scared I won’t pay or something?
Please!
My husband is loaded!
He could buy every single bar in River City if he wanted to.
You think he can’t cover my tab?
Fill it up!”
The bartender was stumped.
She was the weirdest kind of drunk—lucid enough to know water from alcohol, but talking in circles, couldn’t even say where she lived.
And the bragging?
Non-stop.
One minute she’s talking like her husband runs the city, with parking lots full of luxury cars, jets for Europe trips and all.
The next, she’s tearfully rambling about getting divorced, fretting over how to get a bigger settlement.
The bartender couldn’t help but envy her a bit.
Marrying rich?
That’s been his fantasy for years.
Suddenly, a loud engine roar near the door caught everyone’s attention.
A dark grey sports car screeched to a halt by the curb outside, water splashing up from the pavement.
Somebody near the entrance shrieked, “Damn, that’s a Bugatti!”
The bartender froze, then watched the car door open.
A man stepped out, holding an umbrella, and headed straight for the bar entrance.