Chapter 100 You Don't Need to Pretend to Be Strong in Front of Me
Scarlett paused when she heard Rhea's words. She could guess why Tatum had shown up.
"I'll be right there."
Rhea nodded and slipped out of her room, returning to the living room where Tatum waited.
"Rhea, so you're here with Scarlett. Looks like you two are doing just fine." Tatum's tone carried a pointed edge—unlike her, apparently.
Rhea played dumb, her expression neutral. "Please. We could never compare to you. Scarlett's been struggling, and I'm barely scraping by, so she asked me to help out."
"Scarlett's always been such a kind soul." Tatum dropped her gaze.
"That's not what you used to say." Scarlett's voice cut through the air like ice.
A beat later, she appeared at the corner where the hallway met the living room, moving forward with deliberate slowness.
Tatum looked up at her with a smile. "Scarlett, I've always said you were kind-hearted!"
"No. You called me cold-blooded." Scarlett threw her own words back at her. Tatum didn't miss a beat.
"Being cold-blooded and kind-hearted aren't mutually exclusive."
"Actually, they are. Cold-blooded means I'll never forgive the people who've hurt me. So if you're here hoping I'll forgive someone, you're wasting your time." Scarlett cut off whatever Tatum had been building toward.
Tatum reached for the coffee on the table, taking a slow sip before continuing. "Scarlett, you already know why I'm here. I know some things are... unforgivable. But could you possibly consider the ten years I spent taking care of your father? Just give Brielle one chance. I promise—the second she's out, I'll take her far away. You'll never see her again."
Scarlett stood before her, eyes cold and sharp. "Forgive her? Did she stop to think about consequences when she did what she did?"
Her voice rose. "She conspired with someone to steal my baby. She kept my child and me apart for four years. I still don't even know where he is. So tell me—what gives you the right to ask for forgiveness?"
Her finger jabbed toward Tatum, her eyes bloodshot with fury.
"You're a mother too. Could you stand not seeing your own child?"
Tatum pressed her lips together, her own eyes reddening. "I understand how you feel. But things have gotten to this point—what if we find a way to get your child back? Once we do, could you let Brielle off the hook? Please?"
Scarlett let out a bitter laugh. "Find him? Fine. Let Brielle find him for me. She brings him back, I won't press charges."
Tatum knew finding the child was like searching for a needle in an ocean. Without money or connections, how could she possibly succeed?
"I want to search too, but I have no leads, no money, no power. Where would I even start? I know Ambrose has the resources. Get him to help you—he'll find your son."
"So now you're ordering us to do the work, and once we find him, you want to wash your hands of the whole thing? How convenient." Scarlett's expression turned glacial.
"Dream on. I'll never let Brielle off. She can rot in prison for all I care."
The words hit like a slap. Tatum shot up from the couch and grabbed Scarlett's arm, dropping to her knees.
Tears streamed down her face. "Scarlett, I'm begging you—just give her one chance. Brielle's my only daughter. If she goes to prison, her life is over. How am I supposed to live with that?"
Scarlett ignored the theatrical display, bending down to pry Tatum's fingers off her leg.
"I will never forgive Brielle. Ever."
Hearing this, Tatum's grip tightened. She sobbed and pleaded, completely ignoring Scarlett's attempts to pull away. She clearly planned to hold on until she got her way.
This was classic Tatum—using soft tactics as a weapon.
Scarlett's eyes turned ice-cold. Then, in one fluid motion, she dropped to her knees too. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she mimicked Tatum's wailing.
"My son! I never even got to see him before your daughter took him away! I can't sleep, I can't eat—all I do is think about him! How could you be so heartless? Find my child! Give me back my baby! He's the only one I have—how am I supposed to go on?"
Tatum's brow furrowed at Scarlett's performance. Rhea rushed over, trying to pull her away.
"What are you doing? Scarlett's been through hell—why are you making it worse? Is this some kind of family hobby for you two?"
But Rhea couldn't break Tatum's grip either. Just as panic set in, the door swung open.
A tall, imposing figure stepped inside.
Ambrose.
He stood in the doorway, a bag in each hand, his gaze sweeping over the bizarre scene in the living room.
His expression darkened.
Rhea bolted toward him. "Mr. Boleyn! Thank God you're here. Brielle's mom is pulling some serious crap—she says if Scarlett won't forgive Brielle, she's not leaving."
Rhea was exaggerating, but not by much. Tatum's whole attitude screamed exactly that.
The act fell apart instantly. One look at Ambrose's cold face and Tatum realized he might actually throw her in jail too.
Ambrose set the bags down with controlled precision, traded his shoes for slippers from the cabinet, then walked over without hurry.
His eyes skipped right over Tatum, focusing solely on Scarlett as he reached down to help her up. "You just showered. Why are you sitting on the floor? Go change before some mystery virus spreads through your entire body."
The implication was crystal clear: Tatum was the virus.
With Ambrose here, Scarlett dropped the act. She accepted his hand and stood.
But Tatum still clung to her pant leg. Scarlett glanced down. "You sure you want to keep holding on?"
"It's fine. Won't she let go? I'll have someone come in and chop off her hand. Problem solved." Ambrose's words dripped with menace.
"Someone get in here."
A bodyguard appeared in the doorway.
"Remove that hand."
"You wouldn't dare!" Tatum shrieked, finally releasing her grip.
"Try me." Ambrose's expression was pure ice, radiating lethal intent. Tatum shivered. She'd known he was dangerous, but not like this.
"If you're not leaving, are you volunteering to lose a hand?" Scarlett pressed her advantage.
Tatum scrambled to her feet, face twisted with rage. "If you insist on being completely heartless about this, I'll go to your father."
Scarlett's laugh was razor-sharp. "Good luck with that."
Having gotten absolutely nowhere, Tatum left in disgrace. Once she was gone, Scarlett exhaled—but the thought of future encounters killed her relief.
"Don't worry. Next time she shows up, just let the bodyguards handle it." Ambrose read her mind.
Only then did Scarlett really look at him. She wiped at the tear tracks on her face.
"Were you crying?" he asked.
"Just matching her performance." Scarlett's voice dropped. Though truthfully, some of that emotion had been real.
Ambrose pulled her into his arms. "If you're hurting, you're hurting. Don't play tough with me."