Chapter 39 Confuse Truth with Falsehood
Why would Ambrose even look twice at Scarlett?
And when did it start?
Were those blacklisting incidents even real?
Wesley's mind spun in chaos—equal parts shock and fury. They'd played him like a fiddle. He forced his expression into something neutral, swallowed his rage, and found his voice.
"Mr. Boleyn, when did this thing between you and Scarlett start?"
Ambrose stretched his long legs out, deciding to drop the pretense entirely.
"Don't project your schemes onto us. I'm just helping her out as a favor to someone."
Wesley's skepticism showed. "A favor to who?"
Ambrose's lips pressed into a hard line. "Who do you think has that kind of pull?"
Right. Who else could convince Ambrose Boleyn to get involved?
Only one person.
Wesley's eyes went wide. "Father?"
"You shouldn't be calling him that anymore. But fine—consider it your last time addressing Mr. Mellon."
So it was Owen.
But wasn't he in prison?
"The Mellon family and the Boleyn family have that kind of connection?" Wesley's confusion bled through.
"There's plenty you don't know." Ambrose took another drag, his expression unreadable. "Or wait—if you'd known, would you have gone through with the divorce?"
He exhaled smoke slowly. "You married Scarlett for her family connections. Too bad the Mellon empire 'collapsed' right after the wedding. Guess you never had that kind of luck."
Ambrose leaned forward, making it crystal clear. "Here's the truth: Owen's known exactly how Scarlett's been living all these years. The only reason he hasn't come after you is because of his grandchild."
Wesley froze. Owen was locked up—how could he still have eyes and ears on the outside?
No. Ambrose had to be bluffing.
"So those blacklisting threats weren't real?"
"Real or fake doesn't matter—they all happened before you hurt and abandoned her. You lost the right to question anything about her life." Ambrose's voice cut like ice.
"Remember this: don't mess with Scarlett. Don't play both sides. You owe Delta your full commitment. Otherwise, forget your company surviving—you might not survive in Silverlight City yourself."
As Ambrose spoke, another cloud of smoke obscured his face. But his words rang clear as a bell. No trace of a joke.
The message was obvious: Wesley had made his choice. Now he had to live with it. Scarlett was off-limits. Delta couldn't be betrayed.
But Wesley's mind was stuck on the Mellon family.
Maybe they weren't actually ruined like everyone believed. Maybe they still had power.
If Ambrose cared this much, the Mellons couldn't be washed up. Owen must have been testing him—manufacturing the appearance of a fallen empire.
He'd been too hasty. Too stupid. And now he'd made an irreversible mistake.
Watching Wesley's soul leave his body in real-time, Ambrose felt a flicker of satisfaction. He stubbed out his cigarette, stood, and brushed imaginary wrinkles from his suit.
"Your mother's been spreading rumors. Saying Scarlett's daughter isn't yours?"
Wesley snapped back to reality. He met Ambrose's gaze but read nothing there.
This was about his pride as a man. He couldn't admit the truth to an outsider—especially not someone who outranked him socially.
If he couldn't win in status, he'd damn well win in dignity.
Besides, with the Mellon situation unclear, he couldn't let this leak.
"My mom talks nonsense."
Ambrose's fingers absently turned the ring on his right wrist. After a pause, he pressed, "Your family doesn't seem progressive enough to let a kid take the mother's surname."
Wesley hesitated for a beat. "My mom's old-fashioned. Wanted a boy."
That actually tracked. Ambrose didn't pursue it further. He turned and left.
After Ambrose's departure, Wesley collapsed into his chair like a puppet with cut strings. The Mellon family definitely wasn't finished. But what did it matter now? He'd already chosen Delta.
8 PM.
Scarlett scrolled aimlessly through her phone. She'd been at it maybe a minute when the hospital room door swung open.
"Scarlett, is this place treating you right?" Briar click-clacked in on her heels, all attitude.
Scarlett laughed at her friend's swagger. "Not really. Got any ideas to fix that?"
Briar dragged a chair over and dropped into it with a mischievous grin. "I've got ideas. Question is whether you'd actually use them."
Scarlett knew that look. She waved her off. "Your wild schemes? Hard pass. I value my sanity."
Briar's grin turned positively wicked as she picked up an apple from the bedside table and started peeling. "Brielle must be kicking herself for messing with you."
"Too late for regrets."
"She wanted to come at me in broad daylight?" Scarlett's voice went flat and cold. "She's not walking away clean."
"Damn right. Who deliberately hits someone with their car and expects no consequences? She had it coming." Briar leaned in, eyes gleaming with gossip-hunger. "So what's the plan?"
Scarlett cut her a look. "I'll stay in this hospital bed a few more days. Emotional distress, childcare logistics, lost wages—she's going to pay through the nose."
Briar slapped her knee. "Yes! About time you got back some of what she and her mother stole from your inheritance."
Scarlett's lips pressed together, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Noticing the shift, Briar held out the freshly peeled apple. Scarlett took it and raised it to her lips just as a knock sounded at the door.
The next second, it opened.
Ambrose walked in.
Briar's entire body went rigid. The last time she'd seen him was at the bar, and the casual atmosphere hadn't fazed her.
But now? The oxygen seemed to evaporate from the room. Her lungs forgot how to function.
She immediately set down the paring knife. "I should let you rest. I'll come by tomorrow."
As she bolted for the door, Scarlett called after her, "Don't forget—you're on Yara duty tomorrow morning."
"Consider it done!" Briar threw back. Then she paused at the threshold, turned, and shot Scarlett a loaded look.
The universal signal for: [Don't waste this opportunity.]
"Does your friend always run like I'm contagious?" Ambrose strolled to Scarlett's bedside, utterly casual.
Scary? Definitely. But Scarlett didn't answer that. "Did you need something?"
The moment she'd spotted the bodyguard at her door, she'd known Ambrose had found her.
"Just finished meeting with Wesley. Thought I'd swing by and make sure our stories match." He pulled over a chair—not the one Briar had used—and sat.
Scarlett's pulse quickened. "You met with Wesley? What did you tell him?"
He turned to her, expression neutral. "A convincing lie mixed with truth."
Same story as before. But that phrase was vague. What lie? What truth?
"How, exactly?"
"At this point, we had to reveal some cards. Otherwise, his family won't back off."
That made sense. But reveal what, specifically?
"Did you tell him we're together?"