Chapter 59 Nicknames During Sweet Love
The man wore gold-rimmed glasses and had the palest complexion Scarlett had ever seen on a guy. His dark dress shirt made him look refined—almost dangerously so, like he belonged in some "gentleman villain" aesthetic.
Was he from the Mitchell family?
She didn't recognize him, but manners kicked in. She nodded back.
The man introduced himself. "I'm Ulysses Mitchell."
So he was a Mitchell. Just not one who showed up at family functions much. No wonder he looked unfamiliar.
"Can I help you with something, Mr. Mitchell?" Her tone could've frosted glass.
"You're looking for Mr. Ross, right? I could grab him for you?" Ulysses offered, a little too helpfully.
Overly eager kindness usually came with strings attached.
The corner of Scarlett's mouth quirked up. "That's kind of you, but I'll wait. He'll come out when he's done."
Reading her brush-off loud and clear, Ulysses smoothly pivoted topics.
"Ms. Mellon, I heard you left the Ross Group. I admire your work, actually. I'd love to have you join the Mitchell Group."
At least he was direct. She could appreciate knowing exactly what someone wanted from her.
She pressed her lips together. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Mitchell, but I'm not looking for work right now."
"No pressure. Whenever you change your mind, the door's open."
With a polite nod, Ulysses walked away.
Scarlett watched him go, her expression hardening. So Wesley was getting cozy with the Mitchells. Brielle must've made the introduction.
Did they really think Owen's network was that easy to tap into?
When Brielle got arrested last time, the Mitchells hadn't lifted a finger to help her. They'd known she was useless. So now they were coming after her instead?
Wrong move, Mitchell family. Wrong move.
Wesley emerged not long after Ulysses left. He stopped in front of her, barely glanced her way, and said, "Follow me."
He turned and walked off. Scarlett had no choice but to follow.
Wesley led her into another empty room. The second the door closed behind them, he dropped the bomb: "I'm not agreeing to the divorce."
Scarlett marched right up to his face, eyes blazing. "Wesley, we signed an agreement. You want to back out now? You really want this going to court? You sure about that?"
His gaze darkened as he looked at her. "You said you loved me. It's only been a few years—and now you want a divorce?"
What nerve was he hitting now?
"I also said I don't love you anymore," Scarlett shot back. "What's the point of dragging this out?"
Wesley's hands suddenly clamped down on her shoulders. "I just realized—I don't want you to leave."
That look in his eyes—that deep, soulful intensity—it was the same one from before. But now, looking at it just made her sick.
She shoved his hands away and stepped back, a cold laugh escaping her throat.
"You mean you can't stand losing the assets, right?"
"Delta's not happening for you, so now you're scrambling to hold onto that forty percent stake in the Ross Group. That's what this is about."
"I am getting a divorce. If you don't show up tomorrow to sign, we're doing this through the courts. Then everyone will know you've been married this whole time. You really want that?"
Wesley suddenly stalked over to the upholstered sofa and kicked it hard. "Why won't you believe me? I don't want a divorce because I've realized I can't live without you."
Scarlett looked down, a bitter smile on her face.
She wasn't buying his act. Not anymore. Delta wasn't working out, so he wanted to string her along, wear down her patience, and keep that forty percent without splitting it. That was all this was.
He'd stoop to this kind of performance for money.
Did he think she was stupid?
"No. A narcissist like you could never actually love anyone," she said coldly. "You've already calculated everyone's value to you. You know exactly who's useful and who's not."
"When Dad went to prison, you realized you couldn't rely on the Mellon family anymore. So you showed your true colors—openly keeping a mistress. But Dad's connections weren't completely dead yet, so you didn't divorce me. You just used 'betrayal' as your excuse to mess with my head, guilt-tripping me into making money for you. Then, when I had nothing left to offer, Delta showed up, and you were ready to toss me aside. Now, Delta's not panning out, so you remember I still have connections. And here you are, backtracking."
Her laugh was sharp, almost pitying. "Wesley, aren't you exhausted?"
Having his mask ripped off like that—Wesley's face went from bad to worse, even pale. He stumbled as he walked, collapsing onto the sofa and covering his face with his hands.
"You don't understand anything. You say I can't love anyone—then why does my chest feel like it's caving in knowing we're divorcing tomorrow?"
"Honey, I do love you. Everything I said before—I was just angry. Please believe me. I don't want a divorce."
Honey. How long had it been since she'd heard that? Back in college, during those honeymoon phase days, he'd called her that all the time.
But things change. People change. Now it just made her want to throw up.
Scarlett stared at Wesley's little performance, her voice ice-cold as she called him out. "You told me to go drink with other men. To schmooze clients and land deals. Is that what you do to someone you supposedly care about?"
Wesley lifted his head, his eyes unfocused and pained. After a long moment, he said, "I knew you'd never actually do it. I just wanted to hurt you."
"I even fired Bianca. Just trust me. One more time. One last time."
He was begging now.
But Scarlett's mind was made up. She wouldn't believe another word out of his mouth.
"There's no point. I don't love you anymore. I am getting divorced."
Wesley just stared at her, like he was trying to see straight through to her soul. Finally, he stood up and laughed—a sound that made her skin crawl. He walked toward her, one deliberate step at a time.
"You want a divorce? Keep dreaming."
He stopped right in front of her, hands gripping her shoulders again. "Why won't you believe me? Delta didn't want to break up with me—I decided not to go forward with her. Why can't you trust me just once more?"
Scarlett struggled, but this time his grip was iron. When she fought harder, he pulled her into his arms entirely.
"You think Ambrose is better than me, don't you? That's why you're so hell-bent on this divorce. You didn't mention it once in four years—not until you met Ambrose. That's when you wanted out."
Scarlett pushed at him, kicked at him. Nothing worked.
"You think Ambrose actually likes you? He just wants to mess around. I'm different. We have history—years together. Remember college? We were good together. How could he possibly compare to me?"
Wesley was spiraling now.
Scarlett suddenly went still. Then she asked one question—sharp as a blade.
"Wesley. You say you love me. So tell me—could you stand it if I'd slept with another man? If I'd had his baby?"
Wesley's body went rigid.
Scarlett felt it. And she laughed, low and knowing.
"You couldn't. Could you?"