Chapter 64 She Doesn't Dare to Crash, I Crash
Scarlett stared at the message on her phone, a bitter laugh escaping through her tears. The audacity. Wesley actually thought he could still use her to land business deals.
Her fingers flew across the screen. "Did you not hear me the first time? You're not getting the shares back. Sign the divorce papers today, or I'll see you in court."
She tossed her phone into the glove compartment and started the engine, her expression blank as stone. She'd barely driven ten feet when a black Porsche came barreling toward her, cutting her off completely.
The Porsche's door swung open. Wesley.
Dressed in a sharp black suit, he stalked toward her car with that entitled stride of his, reaching her window and rapping on the glass with his knuckles.
"We need to talk."
Scarlett didn't move. She lowered her window a third of the way, her tone flat. "I've said everything I needed to say. There's nothing left to discuss."
Wesley bent down, bracing both hands against her car door, his eyes boring into hers. "Just one last time. Do this for me, and I swear I'll never bother you again. You'll have your peaceful life."
Her gaze was ice. "Not happening. Move."
His patience snapped at her unwavering resolve, his face darkening like a storm cloud. "You won't even think about yourself? What about your daughter?"
"Using our kid to threaten me? That won't work, Wesley." Her voice turned deadly. "If one word about my daughter leaks out, I'll burn the Ross Group to the ground right along with you."
There was something feral in her tone now. People always had the capacity to go lower. Always.
Wesley studied her reaction, weighing his options, calculating his next move.
The air between them crystallized into something brittle. Scarlett wasn't about to waste another second on him, but his car had her boxed in. Her voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Move your car in the next five seconds, or I'm ramming through it."
The words barely left her lips before a deafening crash shattered the standoff.
Both their heads whipped around. A massive Hummer was slamming into the Porsche, metal shrieking against metal, pushing it forward until there was finally room to pass. Wesley's face drained of color as he took off running.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he bellowed.
The Hummer came to a stop. The driver's window slid down, revealing Chase's impassive face.
"People who block the road don't get to complain." His tone was flat, dangerous, like he was two seconds away from getting out and finishing the job with his fists. "Be grateful I didn't total the damn thing."
Wesley recognized Chase instantly—Ambrose's personal bodyguard. Which meant...
Was Ambrose in the car?
As if on cue, the rear window descended, revealing a face that was beautiful and brutal in equal measure. Ambrose. Those sharp features, that cold expression—it sent a chill down anyone's spine who had the misfortune of being on his bad side.
Wesley's mind raced. Brielle's intel had to be wrong. The Boleyn and Mellon families actually were connected, weren't they? This wasn't just some temporary infatuation like she'd claimed.
Otherwise, why would Ambrose be here at all?
Before Wesley could process it further, Ambrose spoke, his voice carrying that effortless authority that made grown men nervous.
"If she won't ram you, I will."
Wesley froze, staring at that face full of barely restrained violence.
Scarlett felt a jolt of surprise when she spotted Ambrose. Was this a coincidence, or had he actually come to verify whether she was really getting divorced?
"If he's not signing, you should go." Ambrose's voice cut through her thoughts.
She snapped back to reality, starting her engine. As she passed Wesley, she gave him one last glacial look before driving straight past, leaving the courthouse behind.
Wesley stood rooted to the spot, watching her taillights disappear, seething but silent. His gaze shifted to his Porsche—the rear end was destroyed. When he looked at Ambrose, those cold eyes were already fixed on him.
"Mr. Ross. Did you forget what I told you, or do you just not take me seriously?"
Ambrose's voice drifted over on the hot summer breeze, each word crystal clear.
Wesley's mind kicked into overdrive, searching for leverage. Then it hit him—Ulysses. Ulysses was Ambrose's rival, and now they were working together on a project. He didn't need to be afraid.
He walked over, forcing his voice steady. "Mr. Boleyn, the Boleyn and Mellon families have no real connection. You've set your sights on my wife, and now you're throwing your weight around in front of me? That's a bit much, don't you think?"
Ambrose held a cigarette between his fingers, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits as he studied Wesley like a wolf sizing up prey. A cold laugh. "You think buddying up to Ulysses makes you untouchable?"
His voice dropped even lower. "Want to test whether Ulysses would actually help you if I came after you?"
The threat landed like a punch. Wesley's chest tightened. Would Ambrose really move against him?
Ulysses was no match for Ambrose. If Ambrose decided to target him, Ulysses would throw him to the wolves without a second thought.
"Ambition is good." Ambrose's tone was almost conversational, but the menace underneath was unmistakable. "But ambition without principles? That just gets you killed faster."
He paused, letting it sink in. "I warned you once. Don't mess with Scarlett, and don't betray Delta. Looks like you've managed to do both. So don't blame me for what comes next."
The window started to rise.
Panic flared in Wesley's chest. He rushed toward the Hummer. "Mr. Boleyn, I haven't betrayed Delta! I'm working on the divorce with Scarlett right now. We're just negotiating terms."
The Hummer stopped. The window descended two-thirds of the way, revealing Ambrose's hawk-like stare. "The divorce agreement was signed ages ago. What terms are left to negotiate?"
Wesley hadn't expected Ambrose to know even that. "Just... minor details we haven't ironed out."
"You mean now that the Powell family knows your dirty little secrets, you figured you'd lost your leverage and could back out of the agreement?"
Wesley went still. How did Ambrose know everything? And if he knew this much, then he definitely had feelings for Scarlett. No one paid this much attention otherwise.
"Mr. Boleyn, you're awfully invested in my marriage. You've got a thing for her, don't you?"
"A cheating, backstabbing snake like you doesn't get to question anyone else's motives."
The words hit like a slap. Wesley's anger flared hot and bright. This bastard was circling his wife and had the nerve to act superior? Did he think Wesley was some kind of pushover?
"Mr. Boleyn, I don't care what you think of me. As long as I'm Scarlett's husband, I have a say in her life. You want her? That depends on whether I'm willing to let her go."
Wesley felt a surge of confidence. He'd found Ambrose's weak spot. It was only a matter of time before he could exploit it.
Ambrose looked at him with that smug expression and let out a low, mocking laugh.
"Is that right?"
Wesley's phone rang.
He pulled it out, glanced at the number, frowned, and answered.
Whatever the person on the other end said made his face go white. His eyes snapped to Ambrose, who sat there calmly smoking, his gaze lethal. After a long moment, Wesley spoke into the phone.
"I understand."
He hung up, jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder his teeth didn't crack. Finally, he forced out the words.
"Mr. Boleyn. That was you, wasn't it?"
Ambrose exhaled a thin stream of smoke, his expression unreadable. "What are you talking about?"