Chapter 63 It Really Hurts
"You're walking away with nothing? Are you insane? You've been busting your ass on the Ross Group's projects for years—why the hell should you leave empty-handed?"
"Listen, if he refuses to sign tomorrow, we'll drag him to court. You've got that agreement. What's he gonna do?"
Briar's voice crackled through the phone, practically vibrating with indignation.
Scarlett sat on the edge of her bed, releasing a slow breath. "A lot has happened lately, Briar. And every time, Yara's the one who gets hurt. You know how... delicate her situation is. I can't let her become collateral damage."
"Even if I got those shares, we'd never have peace. Wesley would show up every other week with some new demand. And his parents?" A bitter laugh escaped her. "They're worse. They'd be at my doorstep constantly. Remember when his mother caused that scene at the preschool? Yara ended up hurt. I can't—I won't live like that. I'll earn my own money."
Silence stretched across the line.
Briar knew Scarlett's weak spot. For Yara, she'd sacrifice anything.
Finally, her friend's voice softened. "Then let me come with you to the courthouse tomorrow."
"I can handle it. I promised to return the shares—he'll sign."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
Briar muttered a few choice words about Wesley before finally hanging up.
Scarlett remained perched on the bed, lost in thought. Her hair had dried to a damp wave against her shoulders before she finally stood, pulling on fresh clothes. Time to check if Ambrose had left.
She padded into the living room. Empty.
"He left a few minutes ago, ma'am," Rhea informed her.
Scarlett nodded absently and headed toward the kids' room.
---
Outside, Ambrose slid into the back seat of his car. Chase fired up the engine, and the vehicle glided away from Lakeside Garden.
"What major projects is the Ross Group working on?" Ambrose's question cut through the quiet.
Chase's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, meeting his boss's gaze. "Funny you should ask. I was just about to brief you. The Ross Group was partnering with the Mitchell family. They're meeting tonight at the Evergreen Club. That's probably where Ms. Mellon tracked down Wesley."
Ambrose's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "What's the partnership about?"
"From what I gathered, Ulysses wants the new district's art museum project. The Ross Group landed the design contract."
A shadow passed over Ambrose's features.
After a loaded pause, he spoke. "Wesley refused to divorce Scarlett tonight. What do you think he's playing at?"
Chase processed this for half a second before the pieces clicked.
"You think he's using the divorce as leverage? Forcing Scarlett to create the museum design?"
"It's a possibility." Ambrose's voice dropped to something cold and lethal. "But what Wesley really wants is that forty percent stake in the Ross Group. Scarlett agreed to walk away from it to get the divorce. But that bastard won't stop there. He'll push for more. Like the museum designs."
"Mr. Boleyn, should we intervene?"
"Assign security to watch over Scarlett. Discreetly." Ambrose's tone hardened further. "And Chase? Start sabotaging the Ross Group's business deals. I want to see exactly how far Wesley gets when he ignores my warnings."
The rage simmering beneath his words was palpable.
"Understood."
The Bentley prowled through the darkness like a predator stalking prey.
The next morning, Scarlett was up before dawn.
After settling the kids and dropping them at preschool, she drove straight to the courthouse.
Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel.
Would Wesley actually show?
Logically, yes—getting those shares back would be too tempting. But something gnawed at her gut. An instinct she couldn't shake.
What if there was another twist coming?
She pulled into the parking lot, anxiety coiling tighter in her chest. A glance at her watch showed 9:45. Their appointment was at ten.
Fifteen more minutes.
From the driver's seat, she scanned the lot for Wesley's car. Nothing.
Her phone felt heavy in her palm. After a moment's hesitation, she dialed.
Five rings before he picked up.
"What?" Wesley's voice was flat.
"I'm already at the courthouse. Are you here yet?" She fought to keep her tone neutral.
"You actually thought I'd show up?"
Her heart plummeted.
"You don't want the shares?"
A pause. Then, "If you want my signature, I've got one more condition besides the shares. Agree to it, and I'll sign immediately."
Scarlett's eyes fell shut.
Ambrose had called it. Her concessions would only make Wesley greedier.
No more. Men like Wesley—ambitious, selfish, ruthless—they never knew when to quit.
"Wesley, if you think I'm going to keep caving, you're dead wrong. I'm not agreeing to anything else. If walking away with nothing isn't enough for you, then I'll see you in court. And when I'm done, you won't get a single penny. Try me."
She drew a breath, adding icily, "I'm waiting here until ten. If you don't show, I'm calling my lawyer."
"The condition's easy for you. Just create one design proposal. Do that and return the shares, and I swear I'll leave you alone. I'll even keep your daughter's background private."
The last sentence landed like a threat.
Translation: [Refuse, and Yara's secret goes public.]
Scarlett collapsed forward against the steering wheel, a sob building in her chest. Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.
He'd manipulated her over and over. Like she wasn't even human to him.
How had she fallen for someone like this?
"Last night, I almost believed you meant what you said. So I decided—fine, I'll return the shares. But now?" Her voice cracked. "You just twisted the knife again. And God, it hurts worse than finding out you never loved me. How was I so blind?"
She sucked in air, her voice turning raw and nasal with tears—but steel-edged.
"Let me make this crystal clear: I'm keeping those shares. See you in court."
She ended the call.
The second the line went dead, she slapped herself hard across the face.
Then she broke down completely.
How could she have been so stupid? Falling for a man like that?
She hadn't wanted to fight them. But they wouldn't let her go.
Fine. Game on.
No more compromises.
Wesley's call came through again. She let it ring out, ignoring the buzz. A text followed.
She glanced at the screen through blurred vision.
"I won't leave you with nothing. I'll give you ten million dollars. Just create one design for me."