Chapter 224 093
“WHAT?!” Charles exploded, sitting upright as though the words had physically shoved him.
On the other end, Amelia didn’t flinch.
“You heard me.”
“You are comparing me to him now?” His voice trembled with disbelief. “After everything you said about that man?”
“I’m not comparing you,” she replied evenly. “I’m stating a fact.”
“A fact?” he barked. “That you prefer your ex-husband?”
“At least,” she said carefully, “he didn’t make me feel like an ATM.”
The sentence hit harder than the previous one.
Charles laughed, a short and disbelieving laugh.
“Wow. So that is what I am now?”
“You tell me,” she said. “Since I arrived in the Bahamas, you have called only once. Once, Charles. And that was after I had already received a series of calls from people who genuinely cared if I landed safely.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I have been calling you, and you have been ignoring me.”
“Seriously?” she countered, her composure cracking slightly. “The second time you called me since I got here was two days after I arrived. Two days, Charles.”
He opened his mouth to argue but she didn’t let him.
“And I am pretty sure the reason you suddenly found your phone charger and network was because you needed money.”
“That is not true!”
“Isn’t it?” she shot back. “What was the first thing you said after your accusations this morning? ‘I need money.’ Not ‘How are you?’ Not ‘Are you enjoying your vacation?’ Just money.”
He paced the room now, running his free hand through his hair.
“I was trying not to disturb you!”
She gave a dry laugh.
“Disturb me? You weren’t trying to disturb me when you needed funds for your ‘business idea’ last month.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
Silence again.
He exhaled harshly.
“You are twisting this.”
“No, Charles. I’m seeing it clearly.”
That line unsettled him.
Clearly?
Since when did Amelia see anything clearly when it came to him?
“You are acting strange,” he muttered.
“No,” she said quietly. “I’m acting awake.”
He clenched his jaw.
“So what? I can’t ask my fiancée for support?”
“Support?” she repeated. “Support is mutual. It is not one-sided. I am on a vacation, Charles. For once in years, I am breathing. Resting. Thinking. And you choose this moment to pressure me for money.”
“I’m not pressuring you!”
“You are,” she insisted. “And I’m not sending you a dime.”
The firmness in her voice stunned him.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she replied. “I am on a vacation, for God’s sake. I cannot, and will not, send you money.”
His pride flared violently.
“So what, I should go beg on the streets?”
“If you need money that badly,” she said, “find it elsewhere.”
The words dropped like stones.
His breathing became uneven.
“Oh,” he said slowly. “So you would see me to it when you are back?”
The implication was sharp, it seemed loaded with expectation.
And that did it.
Amelia hissed softly in irritation.
“I cannot believe you.”
Before he could respond—
The line went dead.
Charles stared at his phone.
For a full three seconds, he didn’t move.
Did Amelia just hang up on him?
On him?
“What!” he shouted at the empty room.
He immediately redialed.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then on the third attempt, it went straight to voicemail.
He froze.
She had cut him off.
Deliberately.
“Damn it!” he roared.
His right hand fisted instinctively and slammed into the wall. The dull thud vibrated up his arm, but he barely felt it.
A woman had hung up on him?
How dare she?
Who the hell did she think she was?
Because of what?
Money?
He paced furiously, breath heavy, chest rising and falling.
“She thinks she can disrespect me?” he muttered. “After everything?”
The nerve.
The audacity.
His phone suddenly rang, jolting him mid-stride.
He spun toward the sound immediately, heart pounding with lingering rage.
For a split second, he thought it might be Amelia calling back.
But when he looked at the screen—
His anger tripled.
Ken.
Amelia slammed the phone onto the soft white duvet, the mattress dipping slightly beneath the force of her frustration. Her chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm as she quickly navigated the settings and sent all incoming calls straight to voicemail.
God.
How petty could he be?
For years, she had convinced herself that Charles was gentle, patient, misunderstood even. She had excused the little things— the late returns, the selective affection, the sudden emergencies that always required financial intervention. She had wrapped them up in pretty ribbons labeled ‘love’ and ‘understanding’.
But now?
Now he had finally dropped the performance.
No soft voice.
No carefully measured words.
No “baby, I miss you.”
Just money.
Her lips trembled slightly as realization settled deeper.
So this was the real him?
This was it?
The man who felt entitled. The man who believed being her fiancé automatically meant access to her bank account. The man who measured loyalty by how much she could provide.
She turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.
God.
How had she not seen it initially?
Or maybe she had.
Maybe she had just chosen not to.
A faint breeze drifted in from the balcony doors, carrying the scent of saltwater and warm sand. The Bahamas had been meant to clear her head. Instead, it had peeled her eyes more open.
Her other phone suddenly pinged on the bedside table.
She turned her head toward it.
That sound alone felt like oxygen compared to the chaos of the last call.
She reached for it, unlocked the screen, and scanned the notification.
Her expression shifted.
Focused and alert.
Professional.
Within seconds, she sat up properly against the headboard and dragged her laptop closer. The earlier anger folded itself neatly into a compartment at the back of her mind.
Duty had called.