Chapter 154 Whispers of Conspiracy
After Rachel was taken away, the vast halls of the Martinez mansion fell into a silence so deep it felt almost unnatural, the kind that presses against the skin and makes every breath sound too loud.
Amelia finally let out a slow, measured exhale. Since her rebirth, she had endured Rachel's endless schemes, swallowing insult after insult. Tonight, the scales had tipped. Old debts and new were settled in one brutal sweep, and Rachel had been forced to pay for every calculated cruelty.
"Amelia… I'm sorry." Kevin's voice was low and weighted with sincerity, his eyes shadowed with guilt. "I promised I would protect you, but I let you suffer so much here."
"Kevin, you're already carrying the company and the family. That's more than enough." Amelia's tone was calm, almost detached. "What I've endured doesn't even count as real suffering."
Kevin held her gaze, a rare softness breaking through the steel, gratitude flickering in his eyes.
It was edging toward dawn, and the night's chaos had drained them all. Zander was settled in Amelia's room for the night, Ryan was given Kevin's, and Chris's space was a wreck. In the end, Amelia, Kevin, and Chris each claimed a spare guest room, making do with whatever was available.
After washing up, Amelia sank into the bed and finally reached for her phone.
A flood of messages from Dorian and Asher lit up the screen, both asking if she was safe. She typed quick replies, but as her fingers moved, a name flashed in her mind—Yvette.
Rachel had invited Yvette tonight for one reason: to witness Ryan unravel. If Ryan's mental state and the incident with the knife went public, his career in entertainment would implode overnight.
Even the smallest chance of exposure had to be stopped.
She contacted Leroy, asking if he could track down Yvette's phone number.
Leroy was a night owl. He began digging almost immediately, and within half an hour Yvette was lounging on her sofa, scrolling through her phone, when several messages appeared.
[Yvette, this is Amelia.]
[About tonight's gathering—my apologies. The argument between Ryan and me, and the mess in the room, must have been unpleasant for you.]
[If you visit the Martinez family again, we'll make sure you're properly welcomed.]
Yvette's brows arched as she read.
An argument? Since when did arguments shatter windows, leave pillows stabbed through with knives, topple wardrobes onto people, and tear a door clean off its hinges with blood staining the frame? This was no ordinary quarrel.
She let out a cold laugh and was about to ignore the texts, already planning to have her contacts in the tabloid world dig into Ryan's history.
Then a thought struck her—how had Amelia gotten her number? Could Rachel have given it to her?
Before she could dwell on it, another message appeared.
[I can find your phone number in fifteen minutes. I can also find your address, personal records, and every scandal you've tried to bury.]
[If you don't want those details made public… or your name dragged through the mud, stop digging into Ryan and stop talking about him.]
Then came a photo. [By scandal, I mean this. (Photo attached)]
The image popped up, and Yvette's breath caught hard enough to hurt. Her phone nearly slipped from her hand.
It was a bed photo from her high school years, taken with a boy whose reputation had been far from clean. She had erased every trace of it long before her debut. Yet here it was, in Amelia's hands.
This wasn't just a warning—it was proof that Amelia could dig up what was meant to be buried forever. And it confirmed that Ryan had secrets that could never see daylight.
Yvette's fingers trembled. She knew that if this photo leaked, her carefully crafted image of innocence would shatter instantly, and her career would burn to ash.
Amelia sent nothing further. She knew people like Yvette feared hard evidence far more than threats.
Michael still hadn't reached out. His phone was off—likely mid-flight.
She set her phone aside and curled into the blankets, feeling a hollow ache she hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge until now.
She missed Michael.
She missed the way he would wrap her in his arms in the dark, the faint scent of him, the quiet warmth of his voice when he reassured her, and the unguarded kisses he would press to her neck and the curve of her ear.
Sleeping alone felt wrong now.
Her thoughts drifted to his grandmother. An elderly woman with Alzheimer's, vanished from her care home… where could she have gone?
Meanwhile, in a luxury villa on the outskirts of River City—
A man in his thirties leaned against a wide desk, his features striking but shadowed by something darker—calculated malice. His eyes gleamed with sharp, predatory intelligence.
He typed two messages and sent them to someone waiting on the other end.
[Ms. Williams, my dear nephew left for Sulien tonight. He won't be back for a while.]
[As for our arrangement… perhaps we should meet tomorrow and discuss it properly.]