Chapter 50 Beginning to Reveal True Nature
Seeing Scarlett's unwavering stance, Tatum must have realized begging wouldn't work. Her tone shifted. "Scarlett, pushing my daughter and me into a corner won't benefit you. You're a mother yourself—you should know better than to go scorched-earth. Just let Brielle go this time, and I promise she'll never bother you again."
Every word dripped with veiled threats.
Scarlett's weak spot had always been her child, and Tatum was weaponizing Yara against her.
"Like I said, I don't know anything about Brielle's situation. But if you're going to threaten me using Yara?" Scarlett's voice turned ice-cold. "Then I'll make it my business to find out exactly what happened—and make damn sure your daughter stays locked up."
"Scarlett, do you really have to be so ruthless?" Tatum's voice exploded through the phone.
"Ruthless? Compared to you two?" A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "I'm just returning what you put me through. Call it karma."
"What did we ever do to you? If this is about the money, let me be clear—your father gave that to me willingly. Go ask him if you don't believe me. And Brielle and Wesley? There was never anything romantic between them. The only connection was when your father's business hit rock bottom, and Wesley needed a loan. Brielle helped him secure one million dollars through a friend of hers. If you don't believe me, ask Wesley yourself whether Brielle facilitated that loan."
Scarlett's jaw tightened at the mention of one million dollars.
During her pregnancy, she remembered all too clearly how Wesley's company had been hemorrhaging money. He'd been scrambling everywhere for cash. That one million-dollar loan had been the lifeline that kept the Ross Group from going under.
And Brielle had arranged it?
"How the hell would Brielle have access to that kind of money? If you're going to lie, at least make it believable."
"Brielle was the middleman. She helped Wesley borrow it from one of her connections. That's why Wesley felt so indebted to her."
Scarlett's mind churned with doubt.
If it were true, why would Brielle help Wesley secure that money? Back then, they barely knew each other. And after Owen's incident, Brielle had wanted nothing more than to see Scarlett suffer. Why would she lift a finger to help her husband?
Unless they had some mutual interest at stake. But what kind of interest?
Scarlett ended the call, phone propped against her chin as her thoughts spiraled. Once the pieces clicked into place, she knew she needed to confront Brielle face-to-face.
Tatum had said someone was messing with Brielle?
That had Ambrose written all over it.
In the car the other day, she'd overheard his phone conversation—something about teaching Brielle a lesson so she'd never run her mouth again.
Ambrose was defending her honor.
No one had stood up for her like that since Owen died.
Her mind drifted back to his confession in the car about sleepless nights. Heat crept up her neck. She had no idea how to handle... whatever this was between them.
After a moment's hesitation, she decided against calling Ambrose directly. Instead, she dialed Ruben.
"Officer, this is Scarlett."
"Drop the 'officer' thing. Just call me Ruben." His voice carried that easygoing swagger—completely different from his by-the-book persona at the station. "What can I do for you, Ms. Mellon?"
Scarlett cut straight to the chase, asking about Brielle's situation.
"She caused a scene outside the station. Public disturbance charge. Honestly, detention's getting off easy."
Scarlett paused. "You and Ambrose are close?"
Ruben caught her meaning immediately and chuckled. "Known him since we were kids. Want to talk to him? He's right here, actually." Before she could respond, his voice turned away from the phone. "Yo, Ambrose—Ms. Mellon wants you."
The rustling of a phone changing hands. Then that low, velvet voice poured into her ear.
"Looking for me?"
Her pulse did that traitorous flutter.
She'd only asked casually, but Ruben had thrust the phone at Ambrose before she could backpedal. Now she was stuck.
What was she supposed to say?
The memory of his mouth on hers flashed unbidden through her mind. She sucked in a breath, shoving the thought away.
After a beat, she managed, "Brielle's in detention. The Mitchells haven't sent anyone to bail her out?"
"Someone that stupid?" Ambrose's contempt was palpable. "The Mitchells are probably regretting ever hiring her. No one's coming." A pause, then his tone shifted, razor-sharp with intuition. "Someone contacted you?"
She shouldn't be surprised anymore by how easily he read her. Every time she made a move, he somehow knew—or guessed with unnerving accuracy.
That kind of perception was probably how he'd claimed his position as head of the Boleyn family.
"Brielle's mother called."
"Did she threaten you?"
"She tried. Didn't work." Scarlett hesitated. "I want to see Brielle. There are things I need to clear up."
"Whenever you want. Just coordinate with Ruben." No questions asked, just immediate agreement.
"Thank you." She meant it.
But Ambrose didn't seem interested in her gratitude. "Words are cheap. I prefer thanks in the form of... actions."
It took her a second to catch his meaning. When she did, her voice came out strangled. "What kind of actions?"
"The kind that cures insomnia."
Her face flamed. "You're shameless."
She jabbed the end-call button before he could respond. Even after hanging up, her cheeks burned like she'd stood too close to an open flame.
Ever since Ambrose had called her out about that night at Midnight Oasis Bar, he'd dropped the aloof act entirely. How was she supposed to face him now?
After collecting herself, Scarlett emerged from her room to find Briar, Yara, and Hayden in the living room, lost in some game that had them all laughing.
She settled on the floor beside them and joined in.
Meanwhile, Ambrose handed the phone back to Ruben, his expression unreadable. But Ruben saw right through him, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
"Dude. Beneath that whole ice-king exterior, you're actually a closet flirt. I'm shook."
Ambrose's gaze cut toward him—a single look that had Ruben scrambling for the wine bottle.
"Right, right. Let's drink. Alcohol's great for sleep, you know. Especially for people suffering from... chronic insomnia." The jab was impossible to miss.
Ambrose ignored the commentary. "She wants to see Brielle. Set it up."
"Consider it done."
When Scarlett arrived at the detention center, Wesley was waiting outside.
Whether he'd come to see Brielle or specifically to ambush her, she couldn't tell. But the moment she stepped out of her car, he made a beeline straight for her.
"We need to talk." He planted himself in front of her, eyes boring into hers.
Scarlett's expression could have frozen hell over. "About what?"
Wesley looked at her with those puppy-dog eyes—the kind that used to work on her once upon a time.
Now they just pissed her off.
"Got something to say? Say it. Otherwise, get lost."
"You didn't use to be like this." His jaw worked, clearly struggling with her hostility.