The urgency of Elizabeth's message made Amelie slightly nervous. She was not the one to indulge in gossip but this time, she sensed something very important going on.
Elizabeth's family controlled more than seventy percent of the media, which meant that if there was important news, she was the first one to know, even if it was still just a budding rumor.
Typically, Elizabeth was the one to post significant news or speculations in their shared gossip feed, but this time, it seemed someone had managed to get ahead of her.
Fighting back the growing feeling of anxiety, Amelie logged into the website and scrolled up to the first post that had started it all.
There it was – a clear shot of Richard Clark and Samantha Blackwood walking through the department store. His hand was firmly placed on her lower back, while she looked up at him with a smile full of unconcealed adoration.
The picture was clearly a professional paparazzi shot, which meant that the news about Richard having an affair was about to spread through the official media like wildfire. But what bothered Amelie the most wasn't the picture itself, but the article that followed it.
"Spotted: Richard Clark having a lazy morning shopping with his 'old friend.' Decades of intimate friendship with his wife are finally over? Mr. Clark seems to be a fan of the 'friends to lovers' trope."
Amelie's eyes scanned the title at least a dozen times, her lips moving along with every single word. "Love," "friends" – these were the words that stung the most. Even if the mock article title had no real substance, to her, they meant the world.
The world that was slowly crumbling beneath her feet.
Calming her racing heart, Amelie scrolled down to the comments section with trembling fingers. Despite the early hour and their busy schedules, all the people she knew had managed to discuss the potential article in detail.
As Amelie read through dozens of undignified messages, she realized once again what it meant to belong to high society. While everyone else might simply reprimand Richard for being "greedy" or "too full of himself" for trying to replace his perfect wife with a mistress, those who knew them personally were capable of hitting all the right nerves.
They all knew what it felt like to be in Amelie's shoes.
And most importantly, they all had at least one reason that could justify Richard's behavior.
"I know what they call me behind my back. The perfect Snow Queen. Cold and calculating. Emotionless. Heartless. I am sure that outside this feed, they all agree Richard had no choice but to find a mistress. After all, how long can you tolerate someone like me, regardless of how perfect and capable I am?"
She hated herself for thinking like that, but she couldn't help it.
Finally, her eyes stopped on one particular thread that had garnered the most attention. Her finger moved on its own, opening the string of messages that attacked her brain all at once.
"I've seen her in a hostess bar before."
"She used to work in many hostess bars."
"My husband, too, confirmed that he has seen her in one of those bars."
"So she is a prostitute?"
"How low. It's one thing to use their services but to bring one to your own home where your wife lives..."
"A prostitute as a lover? He must be out of his mind."
"Guess even the most stoic and respectful men can still lose it eventually."
Each comment stung like a dagger, and Amelie felt her stomach churn with a mix of anger and despair. The world she thought she knew was unraveling before her eyes, and the people she considered friends were tearing her apart with their words.
Amelie widened her eyes in shock, her blood running cold with each passing moment.
She didn't care about Samantha or who she was. Truthfully, Samantha could be a murderer for all she cared. What mattered to Amelie was her own reputation, the reputation of her family, and the standing of the JFC Group. Such rumors, if revealed to the public, would ruin everything in an instant.
With her hands still shaking and her heart galloping, Amelie found Elizabeth in her contacts and pressed the call button. Her friend picked up almost immediately.
"Lizzy," Amelie's voice was quiet and strained, "can you take care of it, please?"
"But, Lily..." Elizabeth paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "This can work in your favor. He will understand how damaging this can be to the company and—"
"No." Amelie cut her off, her voice as sharp as a blade. "These are just baseless rumors. I don't want this to affect my family in any way. Please. I'm counting on you."
"...Alright," Elizabeth agreed reluctantly. After hearing her friend's dry words of gratitude, their call ended.
***
Amelie's car stopped in front of the mansion. Once again, she felt like a stranger visiting her own home.
The mere idea of stepping inside this house made her sick, but she had no other choice. She was still the lady of the house; she managed everything related to it, and it would have been beneath her to leave the mansion, loved by her in-laws, in disarray just because another person was living in it.
Moreover, after spending most of her time in the hotel, Amelie needed to get more clothes. She couldn't allow herself to walk around wearing the same attire, and buying new outfits each time was simply a waste. As someone deeply involved with charity, she knew better than that.
Once she had made all the necessary arrangements and gathered more of her belongings to bring to her penthouse suite, Amelie was ready to leave the house when she saw Richard marching toward her with urgent steps.
"Finally came back home?" His narrowed eyes moved down to the packed suitcase next to her legs, and the crease between his eyebrows deepened. "Come with me to my study. Now."
Reluctantly, Amelie followed her husband to his private study. Once she stepped inside the room, Richard slammed the door behind her and pushed her against the cold wall. His eyes burned with discernible rage, and his voice was as cold as ice.
"Were you the one who spread the rumors about Samantha being a prostitute?"
Richard's towering figure loomed over Amelie's slight frame, casting a cold shadow on everything around her. His icy tone and menacing glare conveyed a chilling realization to Amelie. Unfazed, she narrowed her eyes and asked just as coldly, "So is it true, then?"
For a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Richard remained silent. His silence, however, spoke volumes. Amelie felt as if he could incinerate her with his smoldering dark eyes.
Finally, he slowly parted his lips, still contemplating the right response, and said in a voice almost a whisper, "That is none of your business."
Amelie wanted to smile but restrained herself. It wasn't a smile of victory; though she knew she had struck a nerve, she felt a similar pain. Emily's words echoed in her mind as she recalled the day her husband had returned from his business trip.
'Does this mean Richard has been visiting hostess bars all these years too?'
This single thought made her shiver in disgust. Suddenly, the image of her husband—her childhood friend and trusted companion—began to distort. The man standing before her now seemed like a complete stranger.
Richard's next words jolted her back to reality.
"I don't know how or what you have managed to find out, but this is personal. Such details should never leave the relationship because they can harm more than just the people involved. I suggest you stop getting involved in gossip, Amelie. You've always struck me as someone above that. Unlike your idle friends."
Amelie clenched her fists in frustration, her nails digging into the soft skin of her palms. Richard always knew how to manipulate her into thinking she was at fault, but she had never let it get to her before. Now, however, this was too much.
"The news has already reached the public media, Richard. It wasn't just internal gossip. Your pictures are in the hands of reporters. You should thank me that my 'idle' friends managed to stop them from being plastered all over the internet."
She wanted to end it there, but she was too hurt to stop.
"It wasn't me. Many men in our circle visit such establishments. Your friends do too. Perhaps someone recognized her."
Richard's lips curled into an annoyed grin, but it was clear he was nervous. Their conversation had devolved into a mutual attempt to sting each other. He sighed.
"No matter how jealous you are, you should know your limits."
His words made Amelie finally realize something important—she wasn't jealous. But that didn't mean she wasn't hurt.
Imitating his grin, she replied, "I would have been jealous if I were in love with you, Richard. Fortunately, that's not the case."
Trying to compose herself, she adjusted her hair and clothes before adding, "I suggest you handle the rumors yourself. Don't drag me into this anymore. This time, it's your reputation that's on the line."
Amelie could no longer bear to look at her husband's face. She was grateful that her remark left him speechless and took it as the perfect moment to leave.
She started walking without even knowing where she was going; the tears welling in her eyes blurred her vision. She hadn't cried in years—she simply had no reason to. But now, she couldn't control it.
Fearing that someone might witness her broken state, Amelie rushed into her bedroom and locked the door. Once inside her safe space, her legs gave way, and she slid down to the floor, covering her hot face with both hands.
She couldn't understand why she was so hurt. Perhaps she was jealous. Perhaps she loved Richard after all. Or maybe she was simply scared. Everything was changing so rapidly, and she couldn't keep up.
Suddenly, she felt a short vibration from inside the pocket of her jacket. Amelie reached in and realized she had been carrying that old mobile phone with her all this time.
Wiping her eyes with her free hand, she noticed a little blue envelope icon on the small screen, indicating an unread text message.
At first, she wasn't sure what to do. She had agreed to keep the phone safe, but that didn't mean she had the right to go through its messages or calls. However, her curiosity got the better of her, and she pressed the button to open the message.
To her surprise, the text was addressed to her.
"Thank you for agreeing to keep this phone. As I thought, you are the kindest woman in the world.
By the way, since you accepted the flowers, I assume you like them. I will try to send you flowers as often as I can, both as a token of my appreciation and because I feel they might cheer you up and make your day a little better.
Thank you again,
Your clumsy neighbor who still insists he's not a drinker."
Amelie couldn't stop herself from releasing a light chuckle. She still found the situation with the phone a bit strange. Even though the number that sent the message was private, the person behind it was a guest at her hotel, so she could easily discover his identity. At the same time, she had to admit that letting him remain anonymous added a touch of thrill and mystery to the situation.
It was something new and fascinating. The clichéd romantic comedy was beginning to seem rather entertaining now.
Still smiling, Amelie decided to reply and see where it would take her.
"I will keep the phone safe for now, but the flowers are not really necessary. If you want to express your gratitude, perhaps you could just tell me your name or the name you would like me to call you."
The response didn't take long. When Amelie opened the message, she burst into uncontrollable laughter—something she hadn't done in years too.
"You can call me Captain Pantaloons."
Her laughter echoed in the room, filling the space with a joy she had almost forgotten.