Chapter 103
Amelia scrambled to stand up, her hands pressing frantically against James's chest. She seemed unable to find her footing and kept falling back down.
James instinctively steadied her waist.
My stomach churned. This scene was truly absurd.
The two people before me—one was my legally recognized husband, the other was my husband's deceased elder brother's wife.
And here they were, shamelessly doing this in the office. This probably wasn't their first time either.
Honestly, I didn't even care about that. What really pissed me off was James deliberately ignoring my messages, avoiding me, wasting my time, and delaying me from saving someone.
That I couldn't tolerate.
I shoved the door open hard.
James and Amelia both turned toward the door at the same time.
James's hand was still resting on Amelia's slender waist.
Amelia was half-leaning in his arms, her cheeks flushed. A flash of panic crossed her eyes, though underneath was pure defiance.
"Sophia?" Amelia jumped up from James's lap like a startled rabbit, but moved too hastily and stumbled, falling back into James's arms.
She kept her head down, not daring to look at me, her voice thin as a mosquito's: "Don't get the wrong idea. I just saw that James has been so tired lately, so I made some soup for him. I accidentally slipped just now..."
As she spoke, her eyes reddened, tears threatening to fall: "Please believe me, I really didn't mean to. I'm sorry..."
"No need."
I walked in, closed the door behind me, tossed my handbag casually on the sofa, and sat down in the armchair nearby. Crossing my legs, I swept my calm gaze over them both.
"I'm just here to discuss one thing. I'll leave once I'm done."
James's expression darkened—whether because my arrival interrupted their fun or because he simply found my presence annoying, I couldn't tell.
His eyes landed on my face, staring at me.
Amelia stood to the side, wringing her fingers, biting her lip as she looked between James and me, the picture of pitifulness.
"Sophia, please don't be angry. James and I really have nothing going on. He's my husband's brother, my support for the rest of my life. There's nothing wrong with me caring about him a little, right?"
"I never said I was angry. You keep saying I'm angry over and over—so do you want me to be angry or not?"
I looked up, my gaze settling coldly on her face, my voice quiet but clear enough. "Or are you hoping to hear me say, 'It's fine, you can have this man'?"
"Even if I agreed to give him to you, shouldn't you ask if he agrees first?"
Amelia's face went pale, her fingers curling up.
James finally spoke, his voice betraying neither pleasure nor anger, only his usual indifference: "What are you here for?"
He didn't ask how I got up here.
Right—in this building, if he wanted to know something, nothing could be hidden from him.
The receptionist had probably already reported it. He just couldn't be bothered to respond, or maybe he simply didn't care what I might see when I barged in.
"I need to talk to you." I withdrew my gaze and looked at him, getting straight to the point. "Privately."
James glanced at Amelia, who was still standing there awkwardly, neither leaving nor staying, and said flatly: "Amelia's not an outsider. There's nothing she can't hear."
I laughed.
A mocking smile played at my lips.
"James." I stood up and walked over to him, staring at his face with amusement, my peripheral vision catching Amelia's uneasy expression.
"Then I'll call Grandma and ask her to come settle this. Let her see whether I'm qualified to have a private word with her grandson."
"And while we're at it, let her judge whether Amelia sitting on your lap half-dressed is appropriate for the Smith family rules, and whether it's fitting for her position as your elder brother's wife."
James's handsome face darkened, a storm gathering in his eyes.
Amelia trembled all over, the color draining from her face, her voice breaking: "Sophia, if you're mad at me, I can apologize."
"Please don't tell Grandma about this. If something happens to her, I... I'll have no choice but to atone with my life."
James said coldly: "Get out."
Amelia froze, seemingly not expecting James to actually tell her to leave.
"Didn't you hear me? Get out."
"James, you and Sophia should talk things through properly. Don't fight. I'll wait outside. Call me if you need anything."
She walked toward the door, and when she opened it, turned back to give James one more plaintive look.
James didn't acknowledge her, didn't even spare her a glance.
She shot me a vicious glare before closing the door.
In the vast office, only James and I remained.
"Well, what is it?" James walked around his desk, but instead of sitting back in his chair, he approached me, his tall figure bringing an oppressive presence.
He looked down at me, his gaze heavy—scrutinizing, with a barely perceptible weariness.
"I need you to contact Conrad for me and ask him to save someone." I stepped back, creating distance, getting straight to the point.
James raised an eyebrow, this subtle expression adding a hint of intrigue to his stern features: "Conrad? What do you need him for? Who's sick? Who's worth you making a special trip to beg me?"
He deliberately emphasized "beg me."
"That's none of your concern." I didn't want to mention Sidney and his sister to avoid James bothering them.
I met his eyes: "You just need to contact him and convince him to help. I'll owe you a favor this time."
James didn't answer immediately.
He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a whiskey, ice cubes clinking crisply against the glass.
He took a sip before turning around, his back to the floor-to-ceiling windows and the bustling cityscape beyond, his gaze drifting toward me.
"Sophia." He spoke slowly, his voice particularly clear in the spacious office. "Is this how you ask someone for help?"
"Then what attitude does Mr. Smith think I should have?"
I met his piercing gaze calmly, unflinching.
"Should I be like Amelia, all dolled up, sitting in your lap, begging you in a soft, crying voice?"
"Or should I kneel, tearfully pour out my troubles, and pray for Mr. Smith's great mercy?"
James's expression turned ice-cold instantly, his fingers tightening around the glass until his knuckles turned white.
"Do you have to be so sarcastic?"
The frustration in my chest grew heavier. I shot back: "How am I being sarcastic? Please, Mr. Smith, point it out for me."
James stared at me and let out a cold laugh: "You've got a sharp tongue. I won't argue with you."
He fell silent for a moment before continuing.
"Conrad does have some connection with our family. Grandfather did his family a favor. And yes, I can get him to help." James's voice grew even deeper. "But the question is, why should I help you?"
He stepped closer, the scent of whiskey and his crisp cologne washing over me with intense aggression.
I straightened my spine: "Name your conditions. As long as I can do it and it doesn't cross my boundaries, I'll agree."
"There are many things you can do." James was now right in front of me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath.
He leaned down slightly. "But right now, there's only one thing I want."