Amanda cried until the world around her faded into a blur, clinging to Quentin as if he were her only lifeline. Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, and she fell into a heavy, fitful sleep in his arms, her breath still hitching in occasional, jagged sobs.
Quentin sighed, his heart heavy with a mixture of love and regret. If he had known that the truth would break her like this, he would have burned that photograph years ago. He never wanted to see her this devastated. In the quiet room, he held her tightly, refusing to let go.
The Study Room
Moments after Quentin departed, Javier strolled into the study with a casual, predatory grace. "It seems I came home at the wrong time today, didn't I?"
He sat opposite Mr. Harris, a faint smile playing on his lips. The old man snorted but didn't answer immediately, waiting for the servant to refresh the teapot. As the servant leaned in, he gave Javier a subtle, conspiratorial nod—a silent confirmation that Javier's influence had already infiltrated the main house.
Once they were alone, Mr. Harris's voice turned stern. "The timing isn't the issue, Javier. What matters is that you understand: Mandy is your Youngest Aunt now. Do you truly realize what that means?"
Despite his age, the old man's eyes were sharp. He saw the lingering obsession in Javier's gaze, but he also saw the absolute devotion in Quentin's. He knew his son and grandson were on a collision course, and he was desperate to prevent a total war.
"How could I forget?" Javier replied, his smile widening slightly. He lowered his eyes to hide the darkness within. He remembered quite well—Amanda wasn't just his "aunt"; she was a doll he had meticulously broken and arranged for his own amusement.
Mr. Harris's expression softened slightly. "When are you bringing your girlfriend to meet me?"
At the mention of Elena Lewis, Javier's expression flickered for only a second. "We're still getting to know each other. When the time is right, I'll bring her home."
"Make it soon," the old man urged. They chatted for a while longer, but before 10:00 PM, the fatigue of age caught up with Mr. Harris. He excused himself to rest.
Javier, playing the role of the filial grandson, helped the old man to his room. But he didn't leave the villa. Instead, he stood in the long, silent hallway and lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around him in the shadows.
A man approached—Clark Smith. He was nearly thirty, dressed elegantly, but his eyes were bloodshot and weary.
"Master," he whispered, bowing his head.
Javier didn't even look at him. He crushed the cigarette out in a nearby tray. "What did you hear today?"
"I heard... something significant," Clark replied.
Javier narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. "Clark, if you're trying to play games with me, you'll find you're tired of living very quickly."
Clark Smith flinched, his neck shrinking in fear. A gambling addict and a debtor, Clark had been trapped by Javier after racking up hundreds of thousands in casino losses. As Butler Wayne's nephew, he was the perfect mole inside the Harris main house.
"Mr. Harris... he said he wants to transfer 5% of his shares to the Young Lady as a dowry," Clark stammered.
Javier went perfectly still. Then, he burst into a cold, hollow laugh. "Good! Very, very good!"
His eyes were filled with a murderous gloom. He had always believed his grandfather was a fair man—that even if he favored Quentin for the CEO position, the inheritance would be split equally. But now, by giving Amanda 5%, Mr. Harris had effectively stripped Javier of any chance to ever challenge Quentin's 30% control.
The cruelty in Javier's gaze made even the desperate Clark Smith recoil.
"Take this," Javier said, producing a small white bottle from his pocket. "Give my grandfather one pill every single day. Ensure no one sees you. If you fail, the debt collectors will be the least of your worries."
Clark accepted the bottle with trembling hands. "I... I will remember, Master."
"Get out."
As Clark scurried away, Javier walked toward the parking lot. His signature smile was back, but it was twisted with a strange, frantic energy. The next time I come back here, it might be for a funeral, he thought. Don't blame me, Old Man. Blame yourself for being so unfair.
In the parking lot, he saw Quentin's car. Quentin was currently carrying a sleeping Amanda toward the vehicle, his movements careful and tender.
"Do you really think you can capture her heart?" Javier called out, his voice dripping with venom.
Quentin didn't stop. He placed Amanda gently into the passenger seat, adjusted her seatbelt, and closed the door softly so as not to wake her. Only then did he turn to face Javier.
"Don't be so proud," Javier sneered. "Didn't I just say a few words back then to make her fall in love with me wholeheartedly? She was a fool for me once. She can be again."
Quentin looked at his nephew with a cold, indifferent disdain. "Possession or obsession, it doesn't matter. In the face of the law and in the eyes of this family, she is my wife. That will never change."
Without another word, Quentin got into the car and drove away. Javier watched the red glow of the taillights fade into the night, his face contorted in a chilling grin.
"Is that so? Then let's see how long your 'law' can protect you when everything starts to fall apart."