Chapter 163 Kevin's Got My Back
Ryan's tone was almost lazy, as if he were tossing out a casual remark. But the edge in his words was razor-sharp, barbed with sarcasm, and it cut through the air like a blade. He was angry—truly angry—and he wasn't hiding it.
Jenny could feel the situation slipping beyond her control. All five sons stood with faces set in stone, the atmosphere in the room brittle, like a sheet of ice stretched tight over dark water.
She stepped in quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. "All right, all right. Your father's had too much to drink. He's talking nonsense."
"Stay in the living room, watch some TV. I have something to discuss with your father upstairs."
Without waiting for a reply, Jenny grabbed Robert's arm and turned toward the staircase. Rupert's letter… she needed to lay it all out with Robert face-to-face.
Downstairs, once their footsteps faded, Kevin drew a steady breath and turned to Amelia, his voice softening. "Amelia, I know that hurt you just now."
"If Dad ever says something like that again, come straight to me. As long as I'm here, you have nothing to worry about."
It was true—there was nothing for her to fear. Amelia had long known that even if things spiraled into chaos, Kevin would plant himself between her and the storm, unwavering, making her feel as if there were a wall of steel at her back.
Kevin called out toward the kitchen, asking the house staff to bring some fruit. Amelia settled onto the couch with her brothers, the flicker of the television casting shifting light across their faces.
Then her phone rang.
She glanced down—it was Vaughn.
The moment she answered, his voice came through, deep and steady, stronger than she remembered. "Amelia, it's me."
"Mr. Williams," she replied, and Tobias immediately reached for the remote, lowering the volume on the TV.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Tomorrow is my birthday," Vaughn said. "We're hosting a dinner at the house. It's been too long since I've seen you. I'll send someone to bring you over tomorrow evening, all right?"
Only then did Amelia realize—tomorrow was Vaughn's birthday.
If not for Vaughn, Robert would never have agreed to bring her from the countryside to River City. If Vaughn hadn't expressed his liking for her so clearly from the start, she might have lasted no more than two days in River City before Jenny sent her back.
Whether out of gratitude or respect, she had to be there to celebrate his birthday.
"Of course. I'll come to wish you a happy birthday tomorrow," Amelia said. "But there's no need to send someone—I'll take a cab myself."
Vaughn sounded pleased. "Good, good. I'll be waiting."
When she hung up, Kevin and the others had clearly overheard Vaughn's words. Kevin knew Vaughn's birthday dinners usually included only family elders, so it surprised him that Amelia had been personally invited.
"Kevin, can I go to Mr. Williams's birthday dinner tomorrow?" she asked.
"Of course," Kevin said with a nod. "Since it's Vaughn's birthday, you'll need a proper gift. I'll have someone arrange it for you tomorrow."
"No need," Amelia said, shaking her head. "I want to prepare Mr. Williams's gift myself."
The dinner was set for seven o'clock.
The next afternoon, just before six, Amelia left the house and took a cab to the nearest branch of Grandwell Bank.
This particular branch specialized in secure vault services for gold, jewelry, and rare artifacts. It was known for its privacy and security. As long as you could prove assets worth over ten million, you could open a safety deposit box here. Client identities were strictly confidential, and only the owner knew the password.
Retrieving items required only the box number and the password—no ID checks, no questions. The staff recognized numbers, not faces.
It was precisely why, when she had still been Rosie, she had stored part of her assets here.
The box had been opened years ago.
Since her rebirth into Amelia's body, she had never touched her former life's assets. Moving money from Rosie's accounts risked exposure, but retrieving something from the vault should be safe.
She entered the twelve-digit password. A long tone sounded, and the door swung open with a slow, deliberate motion.
Inside were neatly arranged boxes of varying sizes.
She searched for a moment before selecting a plain, square wooden box. Opening it, she checked the contents—untouched, exactly as she had left them. She closed the lid and slipped the box into her handbag.
For the dinner, she hadn't gone overboard with her appearance. A pale green evening dress with a satin lining and a sheer skirt, delicate pleats at the bodice, and a matching floral detail at the waist. Her makeup was light, a fine chain around her neck, and the small handbag in her hand. Understated, but with an effortless grace.
Closing the vault, Amelia stepped out of Grandwell Bank.
She thought this visit would pass unnoticed.
But less than thirty minutes later, in a spacious apartment elsewhere in River City, a black-haired man in a light shirt took a phone call.
When he heard the report—that Rosie's safety deposit box had been opened—his expression sharpened instantly, a glint of steel flashing in his eyes.
Ever since he had used the compass to detect that sudden surge of Rosie's soul energy, he had followed its guidance straight to River City. But after that incident, Rosie had shown no further signs of abnormality.
He suspected that surge had been triggered by some emergency, after which she had refrained from using her power again, making it impossible to track her.
Still, he had kept a close watch on all assets under Rosie's name.
Six months ago, through inside connections, he had obtained the number of her Grandwell Bank vault.
For over a year, Rosie's accounts had remained untouched. He had almost believed she had abandoned that fortune.
But today, the vault had been opened.
It had to be Rosie.
"I understand," the man said quietly into the phone. "Pull the security footage. Send me the retrieval images."
Twenty minutes later, the photos arrived.
He studied them, his brows knitting. The girl in the image had a figure and certain mannerisms uncannily similar to Rosie—but she was clearly much younger, no more than seventeen or eighteen. Rosie, by contrast, was thirty-three.
Even so, if this girl knew the password, she was connected to Rosie in some way. Or she knew where Rosie was.
He stared at the photo for a long time before sending a single message: [Find out who this girl is.]