Chapter 92 From Love to Hate
At an event like this, running into Ulysses was inevitable.
Scarlett lifted her head, giving him a cool nod before looking away.
Ulysses didn't seem fazed. He dropped into the chair beside her, leaning close enough that his voice was barely a whisper.
"Ms. Mellon, you went to see your father. Did he tell you that the Mitchell family was behind the evidence?"
Scarlett immediately shifted back, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Mr. Mitchell, someone of your... stature really shouldn't keep lowering yourself to chase after me. It's not a good look."
Ulysses smiled, adjusting his glasses. "For a beauty like Ms. Mellon, I'd say it's worth it."
Then he leaned even closer to her ear, though his gaze flickered toward Ambrose across the room—pure provocation. "Ambrose keeps staring at us. What do you think? If I made a move on you right now, would he come charging over?"
Scarlett jerked sideways, creating distance between them. "Mr. Mitchell, considering how obsessed you are with Mr. Boleyn, I'm starting to wonder if you're actually into him. Did he turn you down? Is this some kind of revenge plot?"
His eyes crinkled behind those lenses. A beat later, he laughed softly. "Ms. Mellon, you really are entertaining."
"But I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I'm into beautiful women. Like you."
"Mr. Mitchell, instead of wasting your breath on me, maybe you should worry about whether you'll actually win this bid."
Ulysses straightened, stretching his legs out in front of him with an exaggerated sigh. "You showing up here pretty much answers that question, doesn't it? Do you really think the Mitchell Group stands a chance now?"
He looked utterly defeated—like he'd already accepted losing the contract.
But Scarlett knew better than to trust anything he projected. Men like him were masters of performance.
"Mr. Mitchell, don't sell yourself short. With your talent for underhanded tactics, you might still have a shot." She stood. "Excuse me. Restroom."
Without waiting for a response, she headed for the exit.
She refused to become the spectacle Ulysses wanted. He was deliberately trying to provoke Ambrose. If Ambrose lost his cool and caused a scene here, they'd lose everything.
Ever since Ambrose had snatched Scarlett away from him that night, Ulysses had been itching to test whether she actually mattered to Ambrose. But Scarlett wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.
Scarlett stood at the sink, washing her hands. A moment later, someone appeared beside her.
"You went to see Dad?"
The voice was ice-cold.
Scarlett glanced up at the mirror.
Brielle.
Today, Brielle wore high-end designer everything—elegant, poised, the picture of refinement. But the shadow lurking in her eyes gave her away.
"What makes you think you have the right to call him Dad?" Scarlett didn't bother sugarcoating it.
Brielle tilted her chin up, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "He raised me for over ten years. Why wouldn't I call him Dad? Does it piss you off, Scarlett? Good. Because I'm going to keep doing it. In fact, Mom and I already saw him. And guess what? He didn't blame us for anything."
Heat flared in Scarlett's chest at those last words. But she forced herself to calm down. Owen wasn't a fool. Once he'd seen through Brielle and her mother's true nature, there was no way he'd forgive them.
Brielle was trying to bait her. If Scarlett snapped here and did something reckless, the Boleyn Group could kiss this contract goodbye.
Once she'd steadied herself, Scarlett let out a cold laugh.
"I know exactly what my father thinks of you two. He'd only forgive you if..." She trailed off deliberately.
She turned off the faucet, pulled a few paper towels from the dispenser, and dried her hands with excruciating slowness.
Brielle's curiosity was clearly killing her. She turned to stare at Scarlett. When it became obvious Scarlett wasn't going to finish the sentence, she couldn't help herself. "If what?"
Scarlett crumpled the paper towels into a ball, squeezing them in her palm. As the paper absorbed the last drops of moisture from her skin, her voice came out flat and detached.
"If you had even an ounce of conscience left, you'd stop working with Ulysses and his people. The Mitchell family is the reason my father's in prison. You think they want you around because they care about you? They're using you to get to Dad's former associates. But here's the thing—it won't work. And once the Mitchells realize you're useless to them, what do you think happens to you?"
"If you cut ties with them now, Dad might actually respect you for it. But if you keep going down this path, thinking he'll forgive you? That's pure fantasy."
Scarlett didn't attack Brielle the way she used to. Because she understood now that her real enemy was the Mitchell family—not Brielle.
To destroy the Mitchells, she needed to dismantle their alliances piece by piece. Then she could go for the kill.
"The Mitchells are using us? Please. We're using them right back." Brielle's eyes blazed with resentment. "If it weren't for the Mitchell family, Mom and I would still be stuck outside Silverlight City. Dad always claimed he treated us equally, but in the end, he only made plans for you. When did he ever plan anything for me?"
"He asked the Boleyns to take care of you, but who did he ask to look after us? No one. Mom and I have been pushed around and humiliated everywhere we go. We didn't have a choice."
Scarlett's brow furrowed. She couldn't stand hearing Brielle blame everything on Owen. "Are you seriously rewriting history right now? When Dad got arrested, your mom hoarded every cent and immediately filed for divorce because she thought he was finished. You two were greedy. Once your mom wanted out, why the hell should Dad have kept looking out for you?"
"Brielle, you and your mother are heartless. Dad was struggling, and you kicked him while he was down. And now you dare to play victim? You're the most shameless people I've ever met."
"I've said my piece. If you insist on staying tangled up with the Mitchells, don't blame me for what happens next."
She tossed the crumpled paper towel into the trash and strode toward the door.
The moment she stepped out, she saw Wesley. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at her—clearly, he'd heard everything.
Fine. Let him hear it.
Scarlett swept a cold glance over him and kept walking.
She had zero interest in dealing with these people.
As she passed him, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. His voice came out through gritted teeth.
"You're working at the Boleyn Group now?"
Scarlett turned, eyes like flint. "Where I work is none of your business."
Wesley looked like he'd been struck. "All of this—the blacklisting, everything—it was just Ambrose's scheme to take you away from me."
"Weren't you the one who kicked me out of the Ross Group?" Scarlett's voice dripped with contempt. "Wesley, you're a CEO. Act like a man and own what you did. Stop making excuses like a coward."
"Is Delta not here today?" She made a show of reaching for her phone. "Maybe I should take a photo of this little moment and send it to her."
Wesley's jaw clenched. After a few seconds of internal struggle, he released her wrist.
Scarlett's smile was razor-sharp.
"From now on, I'm recording everything you say to me. So think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth."
She shook out her wrist like she'd touched something contaminated.
Wesley's situation was dire. Delta was all he had left.
"Hold on tight to Delta. Otherwise, you'll have nothing."
She walked away.
Wesley punched the wall, his hand throbbing with regret.
"If you regret it that badly, you should be all over her. Don't give her any chance to get close to Ambrose."
Brielle's voice cut through the hallway.
Wesley turned around, saw Brielle, and looked at her with such anger as if he were going to devour her. "You said at the beginning that the Mellon family and the Boleyn family had no long-standing friendly relations. You have been lying to me all along."