Chapter 95 No Regrets Allowed
Scarlett's voice hit him like a shot of adrenaline. Ambrose's blood roared through his veins as he dipped his head and captured her lips.
Her mouth was dry as desert sand, but the moment she tasted him, it was like finding an oasis. She pulled at him desperately, kissing him harder, deeper, until a whimper escaped her throat.
"Not enough," she breathed against his mouth. "It's not enough."
Ambrose pulled back, his dark eyes blazing with barely restrained hunger. With one swift motion, their clothes disappeared.
"Don't you dare cry and tell me to stop later," he murmured against the corner of her lips, his voice rough as gravel.
Scarlett's eyes were hazy, pupils blown wide as she stared up at him. That look nearly undid him. His hands began to wander.
"Relax," he whispered between kisses, feeling her arms tighten around his neck like a vice.
She loosened her grip, letting her arms rest more gently around him. Tilting her head back, she sought his lips again. He indulged her for several heartbeats before trailing his mouth lower.
Her head spun. Each breath came shorter than the last, like she was drowning. Soft sounds escaped her as she pressed herself against him.
"Okay," he murmured. "You're ready."
"Ready for what?" His lips never stopped moving as he played dumb.
He wanted her desperate, yes—but after the way she'd used him before, ditching him the second she got what she wanted? Hell no. Not this time.
Her eyes glistened. "You're doing this on purpose."
That earned her a wicked grin. He kept teasing, coaxing, trying to make her say it out loud.
She trembled, then bit out through clenched teeth: "Ambrose!"
"Hmm?" The picture of innocence, even as mischief danced in his eyes.
"What the hell do you want from me?" Her nails dug into his chest, frustration radiating off her in waves.
He seized the moment. "After your divorce is finalized, I'm moving into Lakeside Garden. With you."
Even through the alcohol haze, Scarlett's mind was sharp enough to catch that. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she stayed silent.
His eyes darkened. He kissed her again, relentless, until she couldn't take it anymore.
"Fine," she gasped.
"No take-backs." His whisper was pure satisfaction against her ear.
After weeks of pent-up frustration, Ambrose felt better than he had closing the new district deal. He cleaned them both up, then pulled her against him for an afternoon nap. They didn't wake until after three.
The buzzing of his phone dragged him back to consciousness. He extracted himself carefully from Scarlett's embrace, grabbed the device from the nightstand, and padded out to the suite's sitting area before answering.
Throwing on a thin robe, he finally picked up.
"Mr. Boleyn. Brielle talked." Chase's voice was steady, but something heavy lurked beneath the calm.
Ambrose heard it. "Go on."
A pause. "That hundred grand Wesley got? He traded it for the baby. Ms. Mellon's baby. Brielle says she paid him a hundred thousand dollars for the child—wanted to make sure Ms. Mellon never recovered from losing it."
Ambrose's knuckles went white around the phone. Rage bled through his carefully constructed control. Wesley had sold Scarlett's baby for a hundred thousand dollars to save his failing company?
For the first time in his life, Ambrose wanted to kill someone.
"There's more," Chase continued. "Brielle says she took the boy after he was born, but the baby was already dead when she did."
"That doesn't track," Chase added, his tone skeptical. "Why take a dead baby?"
"Where is she now?" Ambrose's voice could have cut glass.
"Still tied up at the Four Seasons. You coming?"
"I'm coming." The words came out flat, lethal. "Bring Wesley too."
Chase knew that tone. He simply said, "Got it," and hung up.
Ambrose stood there for a long moment, reining in the darkness that wanted to consume him. When he felt marginally human again, he returned to the bedroom.
Scarlett was still sleeping soundly. He watched her for a moment, decided not to wake her, then changed in the bathroom and left.
---
At the Four Seasons, Brielle was curled in a corner of the room like a trapped animal. When footsteps approached, her head snapped up. The moment she saw Ambrose—murder written all over his face—her already swollen features contorted with fresh terror.
"This is illegal! You have to let me go!"
Ambrose crouched in front of her, his stare colder than death itself. "Illegal? You want to talk about illegal? What you've done would justify ten death sentences."
His hand shot out, wrapping around her throat. Brielle's eyes went wide, airway cut off, head shaking frantically.
"Tell me," he snarled. "Where did you take that baby?"
Her face turned purple. No words could escape.
"Mr. Boleyn—let her breathe so she can answer," Chase warned from the side, afraid Ambrose might actually snap her neck.
Ambrose shoved her away with disgust. "One lie," he warned, "and you won't even get a grave to rot in."
Brielle sucked in ragged breaths. "The baby—he wasn't breathing when he came out. I swear."
"Think carefully before you lie to me." The threat in his voice was unmistakable.
She hugged her knees tighter. "I'm not lying! I hated Scarlett so much, I wanted her to never even see her own child. Not even once. I wanted her to live with that regret forever, so I took the baby's body."
Ambrose's laugh was harsh. "Guess you need more encouragement to tell the truth."
He started to rise, as if to fetch something truly unpleasant. Brielle panicked.
"You can check! Go to the hospital—check the records! See if I'm lying!"
"Oh, I will." He towered over her now. "And when I find out you lied, that's it for you. But if you tell me the truth now, I might let you live."
His eyes bored into her. When she didn't crack, he changed tactics.
"The night she lost her innocence—that was you too, wasn't it? Who's the father of her baby?"
Brielle shook her head violently. "I don't know! I really don't!"
"I had no idea she was pregnant until I accidentally saw her at a doctor's appointment. Later I asked Wesley about it, and that's when I found out the baby wasn't his."
"Wesley would tell you something that humiliating?" Ambrose's skepticism was razor-sharp.
Brielle's voice dropped. "We were having an affair."
As soon as the words were spoken, the doorbell rang. It was Wesley, who had been tied up and brought here.