Chapter 176 I'll Be Watching You
Arabella turned to leave. With so many witnesses around, she figured Anthony wouldn't dare try anything. But as she passed him, he asked casually, "You came for Sawyer today?"
She froze, then instinctively glanced at the display boards nearby.
Seeing Sawyer's photo, she felt a moment of speechlessness, then bitter amusement. No wonder she'd run into Rachel and Anthony—she'd thought it was just a small world. Turned out the circle was smaller than she'd realized. All familiar faces.
She looked at Anthony evenly. "No. I'm here on behalf of the bride's relatives—gift delivery. Could you move, please?"
Anthony had already positioned himself in her path while she'd been distracted.
If she were Daisy, she'd be cursing him out six ways from Sunday right now. Unfortunately, she wasn't Daisy. Even angry, she maintained composure.
God, she really needed a Daisy right about now.
Anthony smiled, studying her. "You used to be so timid. Scared of everything. Right after our divorce, you were terrified of offending me—wouldn't dream of causing conflict. What happened? When did you become so... unmovable?"
Arabella's smile was tight. "Back then I had nothing. I needed work. I had to support myself, my father, the kid I'd taken in. I couldn't afford to oppose you. I was scared you'd run me out of Majestic City. One wave of your hand and my family would scatter like clouds in the wind."
She met his eyes, her gaze distant. "But I've solved those problems now. I don't need to be afraid of you anymore. Don't need to keep swallowing things down."
"I see." Anthony nodded thoughtfully, then suddenly leaned close to her ear, enunciating each word carefully. "And your father? I hear his legs are healing up nicely?"
Arabella's expression changed, her body trembling involuntarily. She glared at him. "Are you threatening me?"
Anthony retreated to a polite distance, smiling faintly. "Whether it's a threat depends on your perspective. I'm just reminding you—don't forget about that time your father went missing."
Arabella's breath caught.
Right after divorcing Anthony, her father had disappeared once. She'd begged Philip for help finding him. At first, her father tried to spare her worry—claimed he'd just gone out for a walk and gotten lost.
But the injuries all over his body told the real story. Eventually he'd admitted he'd been kidnapped.
Who did it and why remained mysteries. She'd suspected Anthony but had no proof. All she could do was ask Philip to station people near her father's place for protection. That was it. Back then, she couldn't even afford to move him somewhere safer.
And now Anthony was finally admitting it to her face. That incident had been his handiwork.
Her eyes went cold as ice. "What do you want? You're threatening me with my father? Anthony, I'm not the same Arabella anymore."
She had so many more options now. If Anthony came after her relentlessly, she could take her father to another city, lie low. She could hire private security to protect him around the clock. She had money now. Money solved a lot of problems.
Even if she still couldn't fight Anthony head-on, she could at least run.
Anthony looked at her with something between a smile and a smirk.
Actually, that incident with Percy hadn't been his doing—he'd only learned later that his mother had arranged it through Rachel.
But that didn't stop him from using it as leverage now. After all, he was perfectly capable of following through.
He just hadn't expected Arabella to push back this hard, actually talk back to him. Did she really think her current resources could help her escape his grasp? He simply hadn't wanted to use extreme measures on her before—he genuinely wanted her back.
"You're not the old Arabella anymore. You think having some money gives you power? Capability?" Anthony smiled coldly. Seeing the flash of panic cross Arabella's face improved his mood considerably, like a cat watching a cornered mouse. "If I remember correctly, your money came from my company—from the Watson Group. And your capabilities? That dinky medical supply sales job—whether you keep it or not is one word from me."
He reached up to touch her face, his gesture tender, almost loving. "Arabella, I don't want to hurt you. I still love you. But you can't treat me like some chump because of that. I'm just inviting you for one drink. Is that really so unreasonable? When you reject me like this, it hurts. And when I'm hurt, I don't know what I might do."
Arabella slapped his hand away, biting out, "Anthony, you're insane!"
To think she'd once asked him for help finding her father. She must have been blind!
Anthony smiled mildly. "You forced my hand. I keep trying to be good to you, but you never appreciate it."
Arabella's mind was already racing ahead—the moment she got out of here, she'd take her father and leave Majestic City. Anthony wasn't one for empty threats. When he wanted something, he'd stop at nothing.
But how would she explain this to Alex? They'd just decided to build a real marriage, and now she'd be running away... Maybe she'd just have to tell him the truth. Once things cooled down and her father was settled safely, she could come back and resume their life together.
Anthony waited leisurely for Arabella to cave, just like she had countless times before.
But then a delighted voice rang out from behind. "Arabella?"
Arabella looked up in surprise. "...Grandma?"
Chloe wore an elegant cream dress with black floral details, her white hair swept back simply. Seeing Arabella, her eyes filled with unconcealed affection and excitement. She crossed over quickly and pulled her into a hug.
"Arabella! What are you doing here?" Chloe asked, still holding her tight.
"I'm here for a coworker—she couldn't make it," Arabella explained.
The elderly man behind Chloe stepped forward immediately, greeting them warmly. "Since we're all honored guests, shall we go inside and chat?"
He wore a military uniform. Arabella squinted at him—he looked familiar. After a beat, she recognized him. Sawyer's grandfather.
Right—Chloe had attended David's birthday party before. And Chloe and David seemed to be close friends.
With David here, Arabella didn't need to worry about Anthony pulling any shady moves. She nodded to Chloe and David. "Sounds good."
Chloe grabbed Arabella's hand enthusiastically. David maintained extremely courteous body language, even deliberately positioning himself half a step behind Arabella.
In high society etiquette, this signaled respect.
Anthony stared darkly at the three retreating figures. David hadn't even acknowledged him.
What the hell was that old woman's background? At David's birthday banquet, he'd shown that unknown elderly lady tremendous deference. Afterward, all the attending elite families had tried digging up her identity. Weeks later—nothing. Not a whisper.
Suddenly, someone tapped his shoulder.
His entire body tensed, automatically shifting into a defensive stance. After a few seconds, he turned with forced casualness.
A stunning face he'd never seen before.
The woman wore a wine-red bodycon dress that hugged every curve, her figure smoking hot. Delicate fingers held a cigarette. She'd gotten his attention, and now she exhaled smoke slowly toward his face.
Anthony smoked and drank with the best of them, but he despised women who smoked. Women should be like Arabella—pure, dignified, perfect homemaker material.
Instant distaste colored his voice. "Who are you?"
The woman raised an eyebrow in surprise, red lips parting. "Your mom didn't tell you? I thought after I beat her ass last time, you people would learn. Didn't I say it clearly? Arabella's my little sister. She's under my protection. Leave her alone. I don't pull punches."
Anthony immediately recalled his mother being tied up in that club's private room, beaten bloody, then bound and dumped in the middle of a busy street.
His eyes went cold. "You're that woman."
"Flora," she corrected, taking another drag. She exhaled slowly, resting her cigarette hand lazily on her other arm, tilting her head at him. "Just now you seemed pretty aggressive with my sister. What exactly were you planning to do to her?"
Anthony's expression remained flat. "As far as I know, Arabella doesn't have a sister."
"She does now." Flora's lips curved. "And her big sister will do everything in her power to protect her from scumbags trying to worm their way back in. Any other questions?"
Anthony frowned. "Who the hell are you really?"
He'd noticed this pattern—everyone around Arabella was increasingly mysterious. That old woman just now, this woman in front of him—they all wielded massive power and influence. Why were they all protecting Arabella?
Flora blinked innocently. "Didn't I tell you? My name's Flora."
She looked him up and down with open contempt. "Looking at you now, you probably couldn't handle two punches from me anyway. Whatever. I'll be charitable—can't have you falling apart at someone's wedding entrance. Bad luck for the newlyweds."
She patted his arm, still smiling pleasantly, though her voice carried an edge of unmistakable menace. "Listen carefully. Ease up. You can't beat me. I'll be watching you. Keep your hands off Arabella. She's out of your league. Understand?"
Anthony felt a sharp pain shoot through his arm. Instinctively reaching for it, he felt several hard objects embedded in his skin. His heart lurched. Gritting his teeth, he yanked them out.
Three needles.
The woman was already sauntering away. She slid into a luxury car parked at the curb. Anthony squinted—this year's model. Price tag north of ten million.
Who the hell was this woman?
His arm grew increasingly painful. He couldn't worry about anything else now. He strode quickly to his own car and drove straight to the hospital.
God only knew what that psycho had coated those needles with. He needed to get checked immediately.
---
Inside the banquet hall, David personally escorted Chloe to the most prestigious table—one that had been left entirely empty of other guests specifically for her arrival.
Chloe pulled Arabella down beside her, asking warmly, "How's work going, sweetheart? There were so many people last time, we couldn't really talk. I have something really precious I want to give you. Come by my place sometime and I'll get it for you."
"Grandma, everything's great. You don't need to keep giving me things," Arabella protested.
She hesitated before continuing, "That house, and the unconditional gift agreement you set up—I..."
Chloe squeezed her hand, shaking her head. "Silly child, everything in this family belongs to you. Don't mind Alex—that blockhead's fine at making money, but ask him to plan out life? Useless. Eventually all the family finances will need to be in your hands anyway."
Once Arabella learned the truth about everything, Chloe wanted nothing to do with managing the family anymore. Exhausting.
Arabella's mouth opened and closed. Chloe's overwhelming affection made her feel the weight of it, made her feel unworthy of her status, but she didn't know how to explain any of that. In the end, she swallowed her words.
David had been standing by respectfully. Seeing Chloe finish her conversation with Arabella, he finally spoke. "Ma'am, please make yourself comfortable here. I'll go greet some old friends."
Chloe nodded with a smile. David moved away with measured steps.
That strange feeling hit Arabella again.
"Grandma, what's your relationship with David? Why does he call you 'ma'am'?"
She'd wanted to ask this for ages. At David's birthday party, she and Chloe hadn't been close enough for her to pry. But now—they were family, more or less. Surely asking wasn't too forward? The thing was... all these little details were so jarring. One incident could be coincidence. But one after another? That stretched coincidence pretty thin.
Something like embarrassment flickered briefly in Chloe's eyes.
The Tucker family used to work for the FitzRoys. Old Mr. FitzRoy's driver had been David. Later David chose military service, and eventually built his fortune. Old Mr. FitzRoy had helped him tremendously along the way.
So even now, David addressed her respectfully as "ma'am," showing deference to her position.
But how could she explain that to Arabella?
She chose her words carefully. "Back in your grandfather-in-law's generation, our two families were close. When David calls me 'ma'am,' he's actually addressing me through my late husband's position. Technically it should be 'Mrs. FitzRoy.'"
Arabella nodded thoughtfully.
Translation: the FitzRoy family had been wealthy in previous generations. At least when Old Mr. FitzRoy was young, he and David had been peers, equals. They'd just fallen on harder times recently?
Made sense—Alexander's dad ran an appraisal studio, his uncles operated small factories. Pretty impressive by her standards, but definitely a step down from the Tucker family's level.
Arabella's internal explanation satisfied her. Most of her confusion cleared up. She obediently poured Chloe a drink.
At a table toward the back, Rachel was trying desperately to charm her future mother-in-law.
Ethan's mother Evelyn was refined and notoriously difficult. Despite being warm at the engagement, privately she'd been cold and distant. Rachel had gritted her teeth and agreed to her brother's request, assuming Evelyn would at least maintain appearances at such a public event. Instead, the moment Rachel finished speaking, Evelyn shot her an icy look.
"You're not even married yet and the Watsons are already eyeing my family's assets? Rachel, isn't that reach a little long?"