Chapter 100: Chapter 100



Amara’s expression grew stormy, her fury palpable. Irene, equally agitated but more restrained, turned to Adrian with a heavy heart. “Adrian, are you truly intent on pursuing the truth behind your father’s death?” Her anger manifested physically as she clenched her fists and pounded her chest with thudding desperation. “Do you really want me to lose the only son I have left?”

Amara stepped in, pulling Adrian back to her side protectively. “Irene, remember that my husband was your son too! He’s gone—doesn’t he deserve justice? Stop showing favoritism!”

Melvin Miller, Adrian’s father, was a sore subject. With eyes reddened by grief, Irene countered, “You have a son too. Have you ever considered the burden you’d bear without Adrian by your side?”

In a fit of rage, Amara hurled a vase to the floor. “I don’t care! All I want is justice for Melvin!” Her voice, hoarse from shouting, reverberated through the mansion.

The sound of shattering glass filled the air as Irene’s bedroom descended into chaos. Yet amidst the turmoil, Irene remained composed, resigned to the inevitability of the confrontation. “Adrian, please take Amara away to rest.”

Amara’s appearance was disheveled as Adrian tried to guide her out, but she resisted vehemently. Stooping, she pointed accusingly at Irene. “This is all your doing! If not for you, neither Melvin nor Adrian’s child would have perished. It’s all your fault!” As the door closed behind them, Amara struck Adrian across the face.

Adrian received the blow without flinching, accustomed to her outbursts since his father’s death. Amara’s grief often manifested in violence and reproaches. The sound of the slap echoed sharply, catching Joelle off guard as she rounded the corner. She had not anticipated witnessing such raw, private agony.

Adrian bowed his head as Amara lectured him sternly. “Why didn’t you defend me? Have you forgotten how your father died?”

“Mom, Grandma is getting old,” Adrian replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

“So what?” Amara snapped back.

“If she collapses because of this stress, Uncle Spencer and his family will seize the opportunity to create more trouble,” Adrian explained with strained patience. Amara’s hand struck him sharply across the face. “Do you think I fear them? No, never!”

Silenced, Adrian ceased his attempts to reason with her. Joelle clasped her hand over her mouth in shock. As she turned to leave, she heard Amara ask, “Is Joelle really pregnant?”

“Yes,” Adrian confirmed quietly.

Amara pondered briefly. “Without the baby, we wouldn’t have been able to put Spencer behind bars. But you need to ensure Joelle conceives again soon—preferably a son!”

“Mom, the gender doesn’t matter,” Adrian interjected with a frown.

“Just make sure she gets pregnant. The more heirs we have, the more control we’ll gain over Irene’s fortune. Understand?”

This wasn’t the first time she had voiced such demands, and Adrian’s responses grew increasingly dismissive. “Yeah.”

Leaning against the wall, Joelle slid to the floor, muffling her sobs behind her hands. The realization was crushing—Adrian’s interest in having a child with her was driven not by a desire for family but by greed for Irene’s wealth. He had been using her—and their potential child—as mere tools in his schemes.

In the afternoon, Joelle and Adrian returned to their home. Leah, having learned of Joelle’s miscarriage, approached with eyes brimming with sympathy. “Mrs. Miller, don’t despair. There will be another chance for a child.”

Joelle, weary and unresponsive, dismissed the comfort. “I’m going upstairs.”

She couldn’t stomach any food and collapsed onto her bed, engulfed by a suffocating numbness. Adrian’s patience wore thin as he faced her unchanging facade. They ceased speaking, and where she might once have capitulated to resolve the silence, this time she was simply too exhausted to feign reconciliation.

One afternoon, as Joelle sat withdrawn in her room, Leah burst in breathlessly, clutching something in her hand. “Mrs. Miller, look what I’ve discovered!”

Indifferent but obliging, Joelle glanced at the small, dark blue brocade box Leah held. “What is that?”

Leah’s voice was tinged with excitement as she explained, “I found it in Mr. Miller’s pocket while laundering his clothes!”

Opening the box, Leah revealed two rings, closely matched in design but differing in size. Joelle’s wedding ring was nowhere to be found, but it was meaningless to find it anyway. The wedding rings had been bought by Adrian’s assistant. Although they were expensive, there was no other value. Adrian didn’t even marry her because of love. Of course, he didn’t care about the rings.

“You found these in his pocket?” Joelle asked, a trace of skepticism in her tone.

Leah nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. One of them must be for you!”

Joelle reached out tentatively towards the rings, then pulled back, her voice flat. “That’s not likely.”

“Why do you say that?” Leah inquired, pushing the box closer. “Mrs. Miller, the women’s ring suits you perfectly. Mr. Miller surely selected these with you in mind!”

“Why would he bother?”

Leah, ever hopeful, suggested naively, “Perhaps he’s trying to mend things between you!”

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