Chapter 43 Is One Hundred Million Enough
The knocking came in rapid succession, urgent and insistent.
Without thinking, Quinley opened the door. Outside, Lucas stood supporting Zachary.
"Ms. Elikin, Mr. Jennings insisted on coming here," Lucas said with a helpless expression.
Quinley was confused. Wasn't he supposed to be having a romantic evening with Alicia?
Before she could process what was happening, Lucas had already helped Zachary inside. Zachary was severely drunk, his legs barely cooperating. Lucas guided him straight to Quinley's bedroom.
"Ms. Elikin, I'll have to trouble you to look after Mr. Jennings tonight! Call me if you need anything—I'll be in the car downstairs." Lucas quickly retreated from the room.
Once he left, only Quinley and Zachary remained, the atmosphere suddenly strange. Zachary slept deeply, his heavy breathing the only sound in the quiet room.
Quinley tucked the blanket around him and was about to leave when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Another message from Alicia.
[Ms. Elikin, Zach says he wants three children with me, preferably all girls. He said having a daughter who looks like me would be someone he could spoil for life. But I only want to give him a son who looks just like him. Can you help me figure out how to tell him?]
Quinley glanced at the message, then at Zachary on the bed. Now she understood completely. The message lingered for a second before Alicia recalled it—the same trick she'd used repeatedly.
[Ms. Elikin, I have to go. Zachary wants me to join him in the shower.]
This time, she didn't recall the message.
Quinley frowned, turned off her phone, and tossed it in a drawer. Alicia was pathetic and pitiful—but wasn't she the same?
She found cigarettes and a lighter in Zachary's pocket and walked out to the balcony. The night was deep and quiet, with only scattered lights glowing in the distance.
Quinley lit a cigarette and reclined in the lounge chair, taking a deep drag while staring at the night sky. The smoke wasn't bitter, but her heart was. Three people on a swing—someone had to step aside. She'd chosen to let go, but the other two wouldn't let her walk away.
The dark night made it easy to lose direction. Quinley lost track of time, and despite not being a smoker, she went through cigarette after cigarette until Zachary's pack was empty.
When the cigarettes were gone, dawn was breaking. As the eastern sky showed a hint of white, Zachary stirred and suddenly woke.
Quinley was still curled in the chair, her slender frame hugging her knees. Perhaps from the cold, she'd wrapped her nightgown tightly around her legs. She gazed distantly into the horizon, her profile unreadable to Zachary, but he could sense the unhappiness weighing on her.
In the early days of their relationship, Quinley would sometimes wear this same expression. He used to go to her, pull her into his arms, and ask, "What's troubling you?"
"Mr. Jennings, why would I have troubles?" Quinley would instantly hide her bad mood, flashing that innocent smile as if she'd never experienced any worries.
She was an excellent secretary at work, always completing his assignments perfectly without causing him concern. Privately, she was an understanding companion who never added to his burdens and even provided emotional support.
In three years together, she rarely mentioned her family. He vaguely knew her background was ordinary but warm—her father was a teacher, her brother still in school. Beyond that, she didn't share and he didn't ask.
After all, Quinley came from a complete family. They might lack material wealth, but they were rich in spirit. Meanwhile, he'd grown up unloved by both parents, never knowing familial warmth.
He'd assumed that Quinley, luckier and happier than him, wouldn't have many troubles. But now, he suddenly felt she might be even more unfortunate than he was.
He slowly got out of bed, his hungover head feeling like lead, his feet unsteady. Grabbing a thin blanket, he walked to the balcony.
Whether his footsteps were too light or Quinley too lost in thought, she startled when he draped the blanket over her thin shoulders.
"You're awake?" She started to get up, but Zachary pressed her shoulder down.
"Want to talk?" This time, he initiated the conversation.
Zachary pulled over a nearby chair and sat down. His complexion was poor, bloodshot eyes still evident. His sharp gaze had regained its calm as he studied Quinley, trying to see through to her heart. But she hid too deeply for him to succeed.
Quinley met his gaze openly, suddenly breaking into a smile. "Let me make you breakfast. Do you want eggs?"
She stood quickly and headed to the kitchen. Soon, the scent of cooking filled the air. A while later, she emerged with two bowls of noodles—one with an egg, one without.
She naturally handed him the bowl with the egg. "Here, eat while it's hot."
Quinley sat down and twirled a large portion of noodles on her fork, blowing on it before taking a bite. A strand of hair fell across her forehead, and she quickly tucked it behind her ear.
"I have something to tell you," Zachary said, holding his bowl without touching his utensils.
Quinley didn't look up, continuing to eat. "No talking while eating. We can discuss it after."
She ate with the same focus she brought to everything else.
Zachary was indeed hungry—he'd only drunk the night before without eating much, and his stomach was empty. Quinley's cooking wasn't exceptional, and the noodles were ordinary compared to his estate's professional chef. But eating with her always improved his appetite, making even simple noodles taste like a feast.
After finishing their meal, the conversation could no longer be avoided.
"You want to ask why I did it, don't you?" Quinley took the offensive.
Zachary remained silent, which was as good as confirmation.
Quinley wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at him. "Mr. Jennings, I deceived you—that's a fact. I come from humble beginnings and love luxury, so I sold myself for money. I sold myself not just to you, but to your mother too. Double profit from one person—don't you think I have quite the business mind?"
She wore a proud smile, deliberately provoking him, trying to make him abandon his obsession.
"What do you need so much money for?"
Quinley pulled the blanket tighter around herself, draping her slender legs over the chair arm. "Isn't having money wonderful? Mr. Jennings, you've never known the hardship of poverty, so you might not understand my desire for wealth. I want to live like rich people do—meals served, clothes laid out, big houses, luxury cars. But as you know, I can't achieve that with a regular salary, so I had to take shortcuts!"
She spoke as if it were perfectly reasonable.
Zachary disliked this version of Quinley—she reeked of petty materialism. He'd wanted to have a calm conversation, but she successfully ignited his anger.
"You really love money that much?" His face darkened, veins bulging on his forehead.
Quinley immediately put on a greedy expression. "Of course! Who doesn't love money?"
"Is this enough?" Zachary suppressed his rage, pulled out a checkbook, scrawled a series of numbers, and handed it to her.
She didn't take it but glanced at the amount. Unless she was mistaken, he'd written one hundred million dollars.