Chapter 11

Margaret was still obsessed with Amelia getting pregnant, totally missing how off her daughter seemed. She frowned and said, "Low energy, cold uterus, weak constitution—those don't show up in regular checkups, you know? If you don't fix these issues, even if you do get pregnant, it won't last."

Amelia kept her mouth shut.

Margaret thought she was getting through to her and kept talking. "The second branch's been getting close with the Mayor's daughter lately. If that marriage works out and she gets pregnant first, Eric's position in the company is going to be shaky. You know how much the old lady values the eldest son and grandson."

And why the hell should Amelia care? She was already planning to get divorced. Whether Eric was in trouble or not had nothing to do with her.

He clearly wasn't in any rush either—didn't even want kids. Right, he just didn't want kids with her.

"Your mom's been in a coma for years and there's no sign she's waking up. Your dad's not even fifty—still young. He might remarry later. When that happens, think you'll still have a place at the Carter house? But a child would be yours no matter what. Someday, they'll be your support. Amelia, you really need to think for yourself."

Amelia wasn't naïve enough to believe Margaret was actually looking out for her. Everyone in the Reeves family had their own agenda. She was just another chess piece on their board.

"I understand, Mom." She lowered her eyes and responded softly—just like always, looking meek and obedient, basically the textbook definition of doormat.

Margaret didn't say more and just urged her, "Drink the medicine first."

There was no getting out of it. Amelia braced herself, picked up the bowl, and downed it in one go, trying not to breathe.

Seriously, this act she was putting on? Totally not worth it. At the very least, she better get a 60/40 split in the divorce.

Just a little while after choking down the medicine, Eric showed up.

Margaret, having achieved her mission, saw no point in dragging the lunch out. She got up and said, "I've got plans with Mrs. Anderson this afternoon. It's about time. You two keep eating."

Natalie jumped up right away. "I've got plans to meet a friend. Mom, walk me out?"

The two of them escorted Margaret and Natalie to the door. Before leaving, Margaret still didn't forget to remind her, "Amelia, don't forget the medicine. And remember what I said."

Amelia nodded.

After they were gone, Eric turned to her and asked, "What did Mom say to you?"

"Nothing important."

But the medicine was already starting to do a number on her stomach. Amelia turned pale and couldn't help gagging.

Eric frowned, grabbed her wrist, and walked her straight to the bathroom.

She ended up throwing up most of that crap she'd drunk and felt a little better afterward. Washing her hands, she saw Eric standing behind her in the mirror, staring at her with this unreadable expression.

Seeing her own wrecked reflection—all because of him—Amelia couldn't help the anger bubbling up.

She curved her lips into a sarcastic smile. "Mr. Reeves, do you have a thing for watching people vomit in bathrooms?"

Eric lifted his eyes and gave her a bland look. "Not particularly... but if you're into it, I guess I could oblige. It's not like it's the first time."

And boom—flashback to last year's Valentine's Day, when she had one drink too many and forced Eric to take her to the bathroom, even made him help pull up her pants...

She hadn't done many humiliating things in her life, but of course he remembered every single one. Seriously, what kind of dog brain did he even have?

She was still frozen in place when Eric casually dropped another sarcastic jab. "Need me to help you undress?"

Amelia shot him a sideways glance. "Mr. Reeves, pretty sure we're not on those kinds of terms anymore."

Eric smirked lazily and suddenly moved in closer. Amelia instinctively stepped back, but there was nowhere to go—her lower back hit the sink.

Trapped between him and the cold marble, she was completely surrounded by his scent—rich and overbearing.

"What are you doing?" She pressed a hand against his chest, trying to hold him off.

His gaze lingered on her lips for a beat before locking eyes with her. His voice came out low and husky.

"Wasn't it you who started this? Flirty tone, feeding me... Wasn't that you throwing yourself at me?"

Amelia stared at him in disbelief. Seriously? Who gave him the confidence?

"Mr. Reeves, I think you've misunderstood—"

She didn't get to finish. Her eyes widened as his lips covered hers—dry and soft.

This was the first time Eric had ever made the first move. Usually, it was her chasing him, initiating contact, while he'd only respond when she pushed too far.

He'd never once shown the desire to take control—not with her. But with Chloe? Even when he had a fever, barely conscious, he'd still call her name.

The thought made his touch feel unbearable.

The moment his tongue slipped in, she bit down—hard. Even though he jerked back quickly, her teeth still split his lip.

The sharp taste of blood filled both their mouths. Eric frowned as he pulled away.

"What are you, a dog?"

Amelia clenched her jaw. If she were, he'd be the first one she'd maul.

Just as he was about to say something else, his phone buzzed. One glance, and his brows furrowed deeper. He looked at her and muttered, "Wait in the car."

Then he walked out, taking the call.

Amelia caught a glimpse of the caller ID: "Baby".

Expression blank, she pulled a tissue and wiped the blood from her lips. Her reflection in the mirror looked pale, pitiful even.

She considered leaving with a bit of dignity and getting a cab, but the moment she stepped outside, the freezing wind hit her.

What was sunny earlier had turned gray and gloomy. The wind roared, and her light outfit offered zero protection. In just a few steps, her hands and feet were numb.

This restaurant Margaret picked happened to be in a new development—not exactly a place easy to catch a ride.

After hesitating for a whole three seconds, she headed for the car.

About ten minutes later, Eric got in too.

She wasn't sure if it was the meds Margaret gave her or what, but after throwing up, she felt drained. As soon as the car started moving, her eyelids grew heavy.

Just as she drifted toward sleep, something heavy landed abruptly in her lap, instantly jolting her awake.

Irritated, she was about to snap at Eric for acting nuts, but then she noticed the box and froze. Her hand lifted the lid, and she blinked in surprise.

Inside lay a Hermès crocodile-skin Birkin. A rare, platinum-edition piece.

If she remembered correctly, the retail price was well over twenty thousand dollars—assuming you could even get on the waitlist for one. On the resale market, it could easily go for thirty or forty grand.

What on earth was this about?

Amelia looked at him in confusion. "What's this supposed to mean?"

Eric shot her an impatient glance. "A client gave it to me. I can't really carry it."

Lucas was beyond speechless. Mr. Reeves, any chance we can be a little more honest with each other?