Chapter 32: Chapter 32



Joelle felt a shiver run down her spine, a wave of goosebumps rippling across her skin. For a fleeting moment, she had the urge to step back and scrutinize the man before her, just to confirm he was truly Adrian.

“Are you even listening to yourself right now?” she asked.

Adrian responded by gently kissing the back of her hand. “Not only do I know what I’m saying, but I also know exactly what I’m doing.”

“And what is it that you’re doing?”

“I’m trying to win my wife back,” he replied.

Joelle quickly withdrew her hand. “Adrian, stop it! You’re seriously creeping me out.”

Unbeknownst to her, one of Irene’s associates observed the scene from a window above. Adrian’s expression darkened, his lips curling into a cold smile as he suddenly pulled Joelle into his arms.

“I made a mistake. Please, don’t be mad at me anymore.” The abrupt shift in his demeanor left Joelle reeling. She struggled to push him away, but he held her firmly, unyielding. It was late, and exhaustion weighed heavily on her. She had already bid Irene farewell. “Adrian, I’m going home now.”

“Alright, let’s go home. Our home!”

“No, I’m going back to my rental. You can go wherever you need to be!”

Adrian was silent for a moment. “You’re my wife, Joelle. Wherever you are, that’s where I need to be.”

Too tired to argue, Joelle let his words hang in the air. On the drive back, the lull of the car’s movement lulled her into sleep. When they arrived, Adrian carefully parked the car and, with practiced ease, carried her up to her apartment.

He disliked the place—the cramped quarters, the aged walls, the oppressive smallness of it all. It was even smaller than where Leah lived. But this was where Joelle had chosen to be, and so he endured it. He squeezed into the tiny bed beside her for the night.

Meanwhile, Amara’s arrival at Oak Villas was marked by simmering rage. The security guards, recognizing her car as an outsider’s vehicle, refused her entry. Amara, never one to tolerate inconvenience, closed her eyes briefly, rubbing her temples before issuing a curt command to her driver to plow through. The barrier snapped as the car surged forward, crashing through the gate.

As Amara stepped out, a few security guards rushed over, their shouts filled with outrage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Just because you have money doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want!”

With her purse draped elegantly over her elbow, Amara adjusted her hair, her gaze sweeping over the building before her. “This is where Rebecca Lloyd lives, right?” Her commanding presence left the guards momentarily stunned, and they nodded almost instinctively.

“Good!” Amara reached into her purse, pulling out a thick wad of cash. “Call all your colleagues over. I’m here to fix my son’s problem.”

By the time Amara strode inside, Rebecca and Erick had yet to make their exit. Rebecca poured a cup of coffee for Amara. “Am…” She caught herself just in time, nearly addressing Amara by her first name. The sharp, warning look from Amara made her quickly correct her mistake. “Madam.”

Amara’s eyes roved over the opulent villa. “Did my son buy this place for you?”

Erick, sensing the tension, quickly interjected, “Mr. Miller was just being generous. He bought it for Rebecca.”

“And whose name is on the deed?” Amara’s voice was sharp.

“Well…” Erick hesitated, rubbing his hands together nervously. “It’s Mr. Miller’s name.”

A sneer curled Amara’s lips. “Then how does it turn out that it was bought for your sister?”

Erick forced a laugh, the sound hollow. “Madam, we don’t have local residency here, so we’re not eligible to buy property. Mr. Miller said that even though the house is under his name, it actually belongs to Rebecca.”

Amara set her cup down with a deliberate thud, her gaze fixed on her perfectly manicured nails. “And you had the nerve to accept it?”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Erick and Rebecca. “Do you really believe you’re entitled to this?

Erick’s smile faltered, but he clung to it with desperation, his tone shamelessly obsequious. “Madam, you’re being too harsh. My father and brother had dedicated their lives to the Miller family. They even…”

“What?” Amara cut him off, her voice icy. “Are you planning to trade on that old favor forever? Whatever your father and brother did for the Miller family, my son has repaid it a hundred times over. Yet here you are, greedy and shameless, with no sense of your worth! Do you even realize who you are? How dare you try to dig your claws into my son?”

Rebecca’s face drained of color, her hand clutching her chest as she gasped for air. “Madam, you’ve got it all wrong! I’m not… well, and Adie only feels sorry for me. He’s just being kind, but I’ve never…”

“Spare me the act! You’ve been clinging to my son for years, and you think I can’t see through you? Let me make this clear: with your background, you’ll never marry my son.”

Rebecca’s breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, her frail body trembling before she suddenly collapsed. Erick caught her just in time.

“Erick, what’s happening?” Rebecca held her head, her eyes wide and unfocused. “I remember being in the hospital.” Erick’s urgency broke through his calm facade. “You don’t remember what just happened?”

Rebecca shook her head, confusion clouding her expression.

Amara watched Rebecca with a critical eye, her mind recalling what she had heard about the young woman’s condition—a rare brain tumor, weaving through her mind like insidious threads, constantly erasing her memories. The survival rate for such a condition was grim, less than three percent.

Seeing the symptoms play out before her didn’t sway Amara’s resolve. She’d still kick them out.

“If you don’t remember, then let me say it again!” Her gaze was steely as she delivered the final blow. “You two better pack your things and get out of this house. Now!”

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