Chapter 7
"Dad, you run a company too—tell me, what intern shows up to work in a $120,000 car? Even Eric only rolled up in a $90,000 Benz when he landed that billion-dollar deal. So why does she need some luxury ride just to get to work?"
Victor's face darkened. "Not every company is the same. You've been spoiled by the Reeves family for too long—what would you know?"
"Being 'spoiled by the Reeves'?" Amelia gave a cold laugh. "Back when you told me to quit my job, that's not how you put it. And anyway, I'm not the only one they've taken care of."
Bang—Victor slapped the table hard, clearly furious. "It's just a damn car! Why are you bringing up all this old stuff?"
Victoria quickly stepped in to calm her father. "Dad, please, your blood pressure... Don't get worked up. It's my fault. I shouldn't have brought it up. If my sister doesn't want to lend the car, it's fine. Don't be mad at her."
But the more she tried to smooth things over, the more disappointed Victor looked with Amelia. "Look at Victoria—she's younger and still more sensible than you!"
Dinner ended in awkward silence. As they were leaving, Victoria casually placed two boxes of white truffles into Amelia's car. Through the open window, she said, "Sis, your husband missed dinner just because of work, right?"
Amelia glanced sideways at her. "What are you getting at?"
Victoria smiled faintly. "Cars aren't the only things with more than one owner. Same goes for men."
Then she helped close the window and walked off like nothing happened.
At the apartment.
Samantha weighed the two gift boxes and raised a brow. "These must weigh five or six pounds. Your dad's really committed to impressing the Reeves family. Did you never tell him your mother-in-law doesn't even acknowledge the gifts?"
"And even if I did, you think he'd stop?"
Amelia flipped through a few channels—Chloe's dramas were on almost every one—then gave up and turned off the TV. "He'd just think his gifts weren't good enough and send something even fancier next time."
"So what are you gonna do with these?"
Amelia didn't really know. Victor never trusted her much; every time he sent something over, he'd check with Eric afterward to see if it got there.
Maybe she could ask Eric to pass them to his mom?
But thinking back to how tense their earlier conversation was, she felt a bit of regret. Maybe she should've held back a little—if Eric's the type to hold grudges, what if he refuses to help now? Burnt bridges weren't easy to fix.
She took a deep breath and decided to just bite the bullet and call him. The phone rang for just a few seconds before it got picked up—only for the call to be instantly cut off.
At first, Amelia thought it was an accident, so she dialed again.
Same thing happened. Connected, then instantly hung up.
After the fifth or sixth time, it finally hit her—Eric was doing this on purpose.
Seriously? So petty! No way was she backing down that easily.
Compared to dealing with his mother Margaret Olsen, convincing Eric still felt like the easier route.
She texted: [Mr. Reeves, are you around?]
Two minutes later, he gave her a cold reply: [Not now.]
Amelia ignored it completely and sent another message: [My dad gave me two boxes of white truffles. I'll send them to your office tomorrow. Help pass them to your mom.]
Eric's reply came quick, same tone: [Nope.]
She clutched her phone tighter, trying not to blow up, and typed: [We split the assets 60-40. You 60, I take 40.]
Another message shot back: [LOL.]
Amelia gritted her teeth and went further, [Fine, 70-30 then. You 70, I 30. That's my bottom line.]
This time, Eric didn't reply right away.
Just when she started second-guessing whether to offer an 80-20 split, her phone rang—and it was Eric calling.
She quickly tapped "Answer."
His calm, low voice came through, "Come with me to Natalie's welcome dinner tomorrow."
"I don't—"
Before she could finish the sentence, he cut in, "I'll help you."
Her unfinished protest just died in her throat. Pathetically, she muttered, "Okay."
Then silence.
It was the first time they'd talked this calmly since she'd moved out. It felt... weird.
To be fair, Eric wasn't a terrible husband. Good-looking, capable, no bad habits—except for being cold and occasionally sharp-tongued. Sure, their upbringings were worlds apart, but he never disrespected her family, and he never mistreated her financially either. Just... he didn't love her.
Compared to those rich guys with wild lifestyles and tabloids full of drama, Eric only had an unresolved thing with his ex. Was that really bad enough to file for divorce over?
She opened her mouth to say something more.
And then she heard a woman's voice on his end: "Eric, who's calling?"
Amelia froze. Then she chuckled to herself bitterly and said, "See you tomorrow," before ending the call.
Why did she always end up choosing between bad and worse? Just one vague ex-girlfriend was more than enough to wreck this marriage that already had no future in sight.
