Chapter 91 The Hypocritical Woman
Owen studied Scarlett, reading the confusion in her eyes like an open book. He reached for the water pitcher, pouring slowly as he spoke.
"Once."
"He came with Quentin. Capable guy."
So Ambrose really had met Owen—he hadn't lied about that. But he knew Owen had helped Quentin, yet never mentioned it. Instead, he'd proposed that transactional deal. What was his angle?
"Dad, Ambrose may be capable, but at the end of the day, he's a businessman. Everything's about the bottom line." Scarlett's voice carried a defensive edge. "If he wants to repay your favor, I won't turn it down. But this time? I helped him secure a project in return. That debt your friendship created? They still owe it."
Owen fell silent for a moment, considering. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured. "Actually, before I came here, I'd already asked Quentin to keep an eye on you. They must have stepped in back then—otherwise, given my situation, you wouldn't have lasted in Silverlight City."
The reason Tatum and her daughter had fled Silverlight City was simple: no one had their back.
Scarlett's eyes widened. "Wait—you're saying Ambrose has been helping me this whole time? Behind the scenes?"
"Has to be." Owen let out a weary sigh. "There's no other explanation for how you managed to stay put in Silverlight City, let alone land all those contracts for Wesley's company."
Scarlett froze as Owen lifted the pitcher again. The soft glug of water filling his cup punctuated the silence as he began to unravel the past.
"Truth is, before everything went south, I'd planned to marry you into the Boleyn family. With their connections, they could've protected you." His voice dropped. "But you had Wesley lodged in that stubborn heart of yours, so I let it go. I figured after I got locked up, you'd see his true colors. Then I could hand you over to Quentin, and you wouldn't fight me on it." He paused, something bitter creeping into his expression. "Never imagined you'd sneak off to city hall and get married the same day I was arrested."
Guilt crashed over Scarlett like a tidal wave, dragging regret in its undertow.
Parents plan for their children's futures in ways they'll never see.
Owen had mapped out her escape route while she'd been too blind to notice. She'd been an idiot—throwing away his love like it meant nothing. Shame burned her cheeks as she ducked her head.
"Dad, I'm so sorry."
Owen's smile carried the weight of someone who'd made peace with disappointment. "Life doesn't run smooth for anyone. Ups and downs—that's just how it goes. You took a fall this time, but if you get back up, you'll see things differently." His gaze held hers. "Just don't trip over the same rock twice. That's when you know you've actually grown."
He'd never been one to yell at her. No matter how badly she'd screwed up, he'd just shake his head with that knowing smile and drop some life wisdom.
Scarlett looked up, throat tight. "I promise, Dad. I know what I need to do now. I won't make the same mistakes again."
Owen gave a satisfied nod and took a slow sip of water.
"Dad, there's something you should know—Tatum's back in town." Scarlett took a drink herself, dreading what came next. "She'll probably come looking for you. And Brielle's been cozying up to the Mitchell family. You need to be careful."
The words tumbled out in a rush. Part of her still worried that if Owen saw Tatum again, her manipulations might work their old magic.
But Owen caught every flicker of concern on her face. That gentle smile returned as he waved off her anxiety. "I'm too old to fall for the same tricks twice. Trust me—they won't get a damn thing from me."
They talked for a while longer, mostly Owen asking about her life. Scarlett held back the worst details, terrified he'd spend sleepless nights worrying in this place.
When Scarlett finally stepped through the prison gates, she tilted her face toward the sky. The sun blazed overhead, brutal and unforgiving. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, but nothing could block out the emptiness spreading through her chest.
She couldn't do a single thing to help Owen.
After standing there for what felt like forever, she forced herself to pull it together. She walked to her car and drove back into the city, heading straight for the Boleyn Group offices.
Back at work, that heavy feeling still pressed down on her shoulders. But the job demanded focus, so she buried herself in it.
That afternoon in the conference room, Milo's museum design appeared on the screen—bold, modern, built around a striking bauhinia flower motif. Then came Scarlett's proposal: a classical approach that honored traditional architecture while radiating artistic sophistication.
The team spent hours comparing the two designs, dissecting the concept and meaning from every angle. After endless debate, they chose Scarlett's vision.
Once the meeting broke up, the conference room emptied—except for Scarlett and Ambrose.
Ambrose didn't ask about the prison visit. Instead, he said, "I'm picking up Hayden tonight. He's staying at my place."
Scarlett simply nodded. Honestly, Hayden had been doing so much better lately—talking more, engaging with people. He probably didn't need to crash at her apartment anymore.
But she kept that thought to herself. Better to wait until he was fully back to normal.
"The design's finalized. The bid's on June 10th," Ambrose continued. "You're coming with me."
Scarlett nodded again.
Maybe she'd been quieter than usual, because Ambrose suddenly narrowed his eyes and asked, "Why are your eyes all puffy?"
She quickly rubbed at them. "They're not puffy!"
Had she really been crying that hard this morning? Were they still swollen?
"You've been crying," Ambrose said flatly.
Under his probing stare, Scarlett met his eyes. He was paying awfully close attention to her. Owen's words echoed in her head. After a few beats of silence, she asked, "My dad told me some things. Turns out you've known about the history between our fathers this whole time."
Ambrose raised an eyebrow, utterly casual. "Yeah. I knew."
His bluntness killed whatever accusation had been forming on her tongue. When she really thought about it, she'd been the one to approach him first. She had no one to blame but herself.
They stared at each other for a moment before Scarlett looked away first. She gathered her things and stood, pushing her chair back. She was halfway to the door when Ambrose spoke again.
"You think I'm some ruthless opportunist, don't you? Knowing my father owed yours a debt but never mentioning it—just throwing business deals in your face instead."
She stopped. Turned to look at him, expression carefully neutral. "Our fathers' debts are theirs to settle. I was the one who came to you. I've got nothing to say about it."
With that, she walked out.
Ambrose stayed seated, jaw tight, mood visibly souring.
She said she had "nothing to say," but the walls she'd just thrown up between them told a different story.
Damn stubborn woman.
Life returned to its routine after that. Scarlett went to work, came home, repeated. The calm lasted all the way up to bid day.
That morning, she rode with Ambrose to the Four Seasons Hotel, where the bidding event was being held. The venue hummed with controlled energy as industry players greeted each other with practiced smiles.
Scarlett was a new face in this crowd, so she stayed put in the Boleyn Group's designated area, quietly waiting for things to start.
The moment Ambrose arrived, people swarmed him. Word hadn't gotten out that the Boleyn Group was entering the bid, so everyone wanted intel.
The real power player today was the Mitchell Group. Ulysses had shown up early, and with rumors swirling that someone from the Mitchell family was about to land a major city leadership position, people practically tripped over themselves to kiss his ring.
Scarlett's phone buzzed.
A text from Wesley: [Why are you here?]
She glanced at the screen and didn't bother replying.
"Ms. Mellon." Ulysses's voice drifted down from above her. "What a pleasant surprise, running into you again."