Chapter 109: Is It Funny?

Chapter 109 Is It Funny?

Alexander nodded toward the sofa beside him, his expression cold. "Sit."

Blake felt like his butt had grown thorns—forget sitting down, even standing was uncomfortable enough. He stole a glance at Alexander and asked tentatively, "Alex, I didn't piss you off, did I?"

Alexander looked up at him and snorted coldly. Blake had been the one who originally suggested the fake gay plan. Just thinking about how Arabella had genuinely called him "sis" twice today made his blood boil, and Blake looked increasingly annoying to him.

He lifted his eyes and pointed to the wine bottle on the coffee table. "Pour."

When Frank walked in, Blake was nervously drinking his third glass. Alex's stare was too terrifying, and he didn't dare ask what was wrong, just obediently doing whatever he was told. But Alex made him pour drinks while not touching a drop himself. Blake had already downed three glasses for no reason, and Alex showed no signs of stopping.

Frank came in with his usual banter: "Oh, having a drinking fit? Perfect timing—I brought some good stuff. Just flew in from my overseas winery yesterday. Try it."

He owned an entire winery abroad that produced batches of premium wine every few years, sealed and stored in cellars. The oldest bottles were over twenty years old, each worth a house.

Blake had been friends with him for years and had been craving those wines forever, but Frank was stingy—in all these years, Blake hadn't managed to squeeze a single good bottle out of him. 

Seeing Frank place that bottle of aged wine with over a decade of history on the table, Blake forgot all about Frank's teasing and crawled over in shock. "Geez, what good news did you get that made you willing to share such good wine with us?"

Frank glanced at him, snapped his fingers, and smiled. "Thanks to you guys, the family infighting has reached fever pitch. My cousin got fought into the hospital—apparently had a stroke and is paralyzed. Probably no hope of seizing power again in this lifetime. My father's sick with anger too."

Hearing this, Blake fell silent, then asked after a while, "Then his wife..."

Frank curved his lips in a smile that was hard to read. "Filing for divorce."

In their circle, many things weren't secrets, especially among close friends like them. They all remembered how pathetic Frank looked when that woman dumped him. She'd despised Frank for being just a doctor, not fighting for family assets, having no backbone. She'd kicked Frank to the curb and gotten together with his cousin.

Poor Frank—his first love, the first time he'd taken feelings seriously, and he'd been hurt and depressed for three years. Hearing about that woman and his cousin's downfall now, Blake felt relieved for him. "Alright, bro, look forward."

Alexander looked over, his gaze falling on Frank with pointed meaning. "Still not over it?"

Frank's expression froze. Blake knew him too well—seeing him like this, he understood immediately and exploded with anger. "Are you sick? You'd still go for that kind of woman? Have you forgotten how she humiliated you when she dumped you? And she's had kids too—what the hell is wrong with you? Don't you find it disgusting?"

Frank said nothing, silently staring at the table. After a while, he smiled. "Enough, let's not talk about this. We're here to celebrate together. By the way, Alex, what's this gathering about?"

It couldn't be that he missed his bros, right? This guy who forgot friends for women—ever since he hooked up with his little wife, where were his bros in his eyes? He'd skipped several gatherings. His excuse: having dinner with the wife.

Shit, like he was rubbing it in that they didn't have wives. But ironically, except for Alexander, they were all single. Except for Frank's former fiancée, the others didn't even have steady girlfriends.

For second-generation rich kids like them, women were for solving physical needs. Love was a luxury, marriage a family tool. 

Only Alexander had fought his entire family to win back marriage autonomy. But then again, he had the ability to back it up. Now the entire FitzRoy family was under his control—if he wanted to do something, no one could really stop him.

With Frank asking this, Blake caught on too. "Alex, your bad mood today wouldn't be related to your wife, would it?" He calculated in his mind—he hadn't offended her. So why was Alex taking revenge by making him down three shots of hard liquor?

Alexander sat on the black leather sofa, holding his phone. It was a message from their friend Chris Edwards saying he couldn't make it today due to business, told them to have fun, and he'd cover the tab. Chris was busy with overseas acquisitions lately and probably couldn't get away.

He put down his phone. Since Chris wasn't coming, everyone was here. Alexander crossed his legs, hands on the armrests, his gaze sweeping indifferently over the two men before him. Then he spoke: "The fake gay plan isn't working. Think of something else."

In that instant, Blake and Frank made countless guesses in their minds, but never expected him to say that.

Blake gathered courage to ask, "Alex, what do you mean the fake gay plan isn't working? Aren't you two getting along great? I'd say this was the best idea ever."

Of course—he'd come up with it. If something went wrong, Alex would strangle him. Oh no, those three drinks just now—was that... punishment?

Frank also analyzed knowledgeably: "She just got hurt emotionally and has resistance to all men. Being her gay best friend right now is definitely the best choice. Once she gets used to your meticulous care and attention..."

Alexander couldn't listen anymore and said through gritted teeth, "She already considers me her sister."

"Huh?"

Blake and Frank both looked confused, then burst into laughter. "She considers you her sister? How dare she!"

"This is too funny—so you gave so much warmth that you skipped romance and went straight to family?"

Faced with his friends' merciless mockery, Alexander's fists clenched. He looked at them expressionlessly, murderous intent swirling in his eyes. "Very funny?"

Blake and Frank immediately shut up. "No no no, not funny, not funny at all."

Alexander was silent for a while, then swallowed his pride. "Think of something." He definitely didn't want to be Arabella's sister. He'd pretended to be gay to get close to her, not to become her sister.

Blake lounged on the sofa, thought for a moment, and said, "How about you find a chance to tell her you're bisexual—that you like both men and women?"

Frank added to this idea: "Just find some random woman to bring around her, say you met your true love and discovered you're bisexual. See how she reacts."

Alexander rejected it without thinking. "I won't test her that way."

His feelings for Arabella were special. He lived in a world of deception and manipulation where sincerity was both the cheapest and most expensive thing. He never bothered giving his heart away. But he was willing to dedicate all his passion and sincerity to her.

This might sound pretentious, but that's how his feelings for Arabella were. He couldn't tolerate any deception or betrayal from himself, not even fake ones. He didn't want her to discover someday, when they finally got together, that his feelings had ever been insincere.

Of course, mainly because he didn't have the capital to test her. She had no romantic interest in him at all. If he really brought a woman to test her, he'd probably get her most sincere blessings.

Alexander didn't want to create trouble for himself and said expressionlessly, "Try another one. Think again."

Frank and Blake were both experienced players with many tricks for dealing with women, but most involved throwing money around. As long as they spent enough, they could get any woman. They'd never seriously pursued a good girl. Frank had tried once and failed miserably—all negative experience.

So the two racked their brains thinking of many methods, but Alexander wasn't satisfied with any of them. Finally, he mercilessly scorned them: "You call this being battle-hardened?"

Neither dared openly retort, but both thought: 'At least we're a hundred times better than you.'

By the end of their discussion, Alexander could see that counting on these two was hopeless. He'd have to find his own way out.

After a whole night of this with zero results, his mood was even worse. Not wanting to deal with Blake and Frank, who had started drinking, he grabbed his jacket and stood up to leave. "You guys have fun. Put it on my tab."

Blake and Frank exchanged glances, both sighing helplessly. Alex had trapped himself in a cocoon of his own making.

Blake really couldn't understand what kind of woman was worth all this trouble. Weren't women just something you could sleep with if you paid enough? Why all these concerns? Why not just sleep with her directly? Didn't they say the vagina was the key to a woman's soul? If once wasn't enough, then do it more times. Was all this tiptoeing around really necessary?

But he didn't dare say this—if he did, Alex would kill him.

Frank could understand Alexander, but he felt that emotions were personal matters. No matter how much advice others gave, you still had to walk your own path. Besides, with his failed experience, he was too embarrassed to teach anything.

Alexander left the club and drove his twenty-something-thousand-dollar car around the streets. He thought about many things and finally decided to let nature take its course. With him guarding her so thoroughly, no one could steal her away. It would just take some time for her to fall in love with him.

Having figured this out, the frustration in his heart eased. Just then, Roy called with a solemn tone: "Mr. FitzRoy, Billy is dead."

Alexander's expression didn't change at all. "How did he die?"

"Suicide." Roy replied. "The guards said after learning about his ex-wife and child's deaths, he'd been in bad shape, muttering to himself in prison corners. This morning they found he'd punctured his throat with a spoon and bled to death."

Alexander wasn't surprised by this outcome. From past records, Billy had always been conflicted—seduced by Mandy yet guilty about his wife and daughter. He'd chosen Mandy for money and power but often regretted it. Now that Mandy was dead and his wife and child were dead too, suicide from guilt was normal.

He was concerned about something else: "Did he reveal anything before dying?"

Roy said with some regret, "No. I arranged for people to visit him many times. He still only had that one line—that Mandy and her brother Jake killed someone and disposed of the body. Who they killed, he never said, just told us to investigate."

But their investigation led nowhere. This whole thing was too strange. He didn't know why Mr. FitzRoy suddenly wanted to investigate these seemingly unrelated people. No matter how they investigated, they couldn't find any flaws, yet you knew they definitely had problems. 

But where the problems were and how to find a breakthrough—he could never figure out the direction.

Alexander had been mentally prepared for this outcome too. After a moment of silence, he said, "Keep watching the Watson family." He hung up after saying this.

Thinking of something, he pressed his temples, then drove home after a moment. Thinking of his little wife waiting at home, his eyes finally showed a trace of smile. It didn't matter—life was long, and she would fall in love with him.

When Alexander returned, Arabella was already preparing for bed. This was her first time taking care of a child. Although Becky was already ten, she was still flustered. She'd wanted to help Becky bathe, but Becky smiled and said it wasn't necessary. So she helped prepare pajamas instead. Fortunately, Molly and Becky were similar heights, so what she'd originally prepared for Molly could be used for Becky.

After Becky finished bathing, she followed her into the bedroom, wanting to read bedtime stories and coax her to sleep. 

Becky had been worried about being disliked, but now she understood that Ms. Bourbon was so kind and friendly. She helplessly explained to Arabella, "Ms. Bourbon, I've grown up. I can take care of eating, drinking, and everything myself." Really, no need to treat her like a three-year-old.

Arabella made an embarrassed "ah" sound and said somewhat sheepishly, "I've never taken care of children before, no experience. If I do anything inappropriate, tell me and we'll adjust together."

Becky felt warm inside, deeply moved. No one had ever been so good to her. This was what she'd asked for herself—she had to treasure it. "Ms. Bourbon, I'm already very grateful that you're helping me. I'll grow up well, and when I earn money later, I'll repay you."

Arabella didn't take these words to heart—children just said childish things. Besides, she didn't expect Becky to repay her. "Going to school tomorrow—are you nervous?" she asked.

Becky honestly nodded. "A little." She was afraid her classmates wouldn't like her or would look down on her.

Arabella held her hand, comforting her: "Don't worry, I've already spoken with the teacher. She'll look after you."

Becky smiled sweetly. She asked curiously, "Ms. Bourbon, why don't you sleep with Mr. FitzRoy? Aren't you married?" She asked sincerely because she'd noticed that Ms. Bourbon's things were all in this bedroom. 

The room originally had one bed, but when she moved in, Ms. Bourbon had set up a small bed beside it for her. But shouldn't married couples live together?

Arabella was stunned by the question, not knowing how to answer for a moment, cold sweat already streaming down her back. Ah, she'd arranged everything in advance but forgot how to maintain this lie in front of a child.

Seeing her silence, Becky became more certain of her guess and earnestly advised, "Ms. Bourbon, couples should communicate well when they have problems, not have cold wars. That really hurts feelings. I saw Mr. FitzRoy treating you quite well today—why don't you two have a good talk tonight? No married couple keeps sleeping in separate rooms."

Arabella smiled dryly. Her mind spun round and round, but she still couldn't think of an explanation. Seeing Becky close her eyes to sleep after speaking, she had no choice but to leave the room first.

When Alexander returned, Arabella was busy in the living room. Seeing the bedding on the sofa, Alexander's expression shifted. "You... why are you sleeping here?"