Chapter 39
I drove my own car, following behind at a leisurely pace.
The black business car came to a stop, and the bodyguards hauled a devastated Freya out of the vehicle.
She was like a broken marionette, letting people do whatever they wanted with her, muttering Walter's name under her breath, tears mixed with expensive foundation smeared all over her face.
I parked my car, stepped out in my heels, and followed behind them at a calm pace, walking into this place I had once briefly called "home."
The living room was a complete mess, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and decay.
Michael was sprawled on the sofa, his once well-tailored suit wrinkled into a heap, with several empty bottles scattered across the table in front of him.
Hearing the commotion, he lifted his bloodshot eyes. When he saw Freya being escorted in by the bodyguards, a flash of wild joy suddenly sparked in those clouded eyes.
He struggled to get up from the sofa, stumbling toward her with a drunk, naive, and pitiful smile on his face. "Freya! Freya, you came back. I knew it—you still can't bear to leave me, right?"
He reached out his hand, trying to grab Freya.
Freya seemed to snap out of a nightmare. Seeing him in this pathetic state, she instinctively recoiled, her face full of disgust.
I stood in the entryway, arms crossed, watching this ridiculous reunion scene. A cold smile curved my lips as I spoke casually, "Mr. Johnson, I think you've misunderstood."
My voice wasn't loud, but it was like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing that pitiful spark in Michael's eyes.
He stiffly turned his head. When he saw me, the joy on his face quickly turned to shock and hatred. "Ophelia? What are you doing here!"
"I brought her back to get something." I tilted my chin toward Freya, my tone as casual as discussing the weather. "After all, she just got publicly dumped by her fiancé and has nowhere to go. Pretty pitiful. I figured in this world, only you, her 'brother,' would take her in."
Each of my words was like a precise carving knife, sculpting his newly risen fantasy into a ridiculous joke.
Michael's face instantly changed from the flush of alcohol to a humiliated, pale white.
He looked at me in disbelief, then at the disheveled Freya beside him, sobbing uncontrollably. His last bit of drunkenness cleared.
The truth after shattered hope was doubly embarrassing and humiliating.
"You..." He pointed at me, trembling with rage, but couldn't get a single curse word out.
I couldn't be bothered to look at him anymore. I turned my gaze to the completely broken Freya, my voice turning cold with an undeniable command. "That ruby jewelry set my mother left behind—where is it?"
Freya's whole body trembled, as if she'd just remembered the real reason I brought her back. She lifted her tear-filled eyes, looking at me desperately, her lips quivering. After a long moment, she raised her weak arm and pointed toward the master bedroom upstairs.
"Ophelia, you vicious woman!" Michael finally found an outlet for his rage. Like a cornered beast, he roared at me, "Isn't it enough that you've ruined us like this? They're just a few pieces of jewelry—do you really have to be so ruthless and petty!"
"Petty?" I acted as if I'd heard the biggest joke ever, slowly walking up to him and looking straight into his eyes, bloodshot from anger and helplessness.
My voice was soft but sharp as ice. "Michael, when you were using my money to support another woman, why didn't you say I was being petty? When she was wearing my mother's belongings, preparing to marry another man, why didn't you accuse her of being greedy?"
I leaned forward slightly, getting close to his ear, and said in a voice only the two of us could hear, word by word: "I forgot—you're a man who would kneel before his ex-wife for money. How could someone like you, who can sell even his dignity, understand what family bonds are, what keepsakes mean, what a person's final line is?"
My words precisely hit his most shameful sore spot.
Michael's body went rigid, all color draining from his face, leaving only an ashen pallor.
He opened his mouth, as if someone had grabbed him by the throat. All his curses and anger got stuck there, unable to make a single sound.
I straightened up and didn't spare him another glance, only instructing the bodyguard behind me: "Go upstairs, follow her, and bring the things down. Check carefully—not a single piece can be missing."
The bodyguard acknowledged and escorted the now powerless Freya upstairs.
I sat leisurely on the only relatively clean armchair in the living room, waiting quietly.
Before long, the bodyguard came down carrying several jewelry boxes.
I opened one of them. The ruby earrings lay quietly inside, giving off a warm glow.
Everything was still there.
I closed the box, stood up, picked up those few jewelry boxes that carried my mother's final keepsakes, and walked straight toward the door.
From start to finish, I never looked back at that pair of "siblings" collapsed in the living room. Their love and hate, their dead end—none of it had anything to do with me anymore.
I took a deep breath, about to walk toward my car, when a familiar black Bentley silently glided up in front of me and stopped smoothly.
The car door opened, and Benjamin stepped out.
He wasn't wearing a suit today, just a dark turtleneck and pants. He had less of that sharp business edge and more of a cool, refined elegance.
The streetlight fell on him, stretching his shadow long.
He didn't ask me anything, just naturally took the jewelry boxes from my hands, placed them in the back seat, then opened the passenger door and looked at me.
"Get in." His voice was as deep as always, revealing no emotion.
I settled into the warm car interior, watching him walk around the front and return to the driver's seat.
The car smoothly pulled away from this rundown area and merged into the city's brilliant lights.
"Someone wants to see you." He kept his eyes on the road ahead and suddenly spoke.
My heart stirred slightly. I turned to look at his cold, sharp profile. "Who?"
He didn't answer directly, stating a fact in a flat tone.
"My grandfather."