Chapter 403 Hypocritical Woman
"What do you mean by 'too much'?"
She got out of Thomas's car and did nothing, not even saying goodbye. Was that too much?
And what about him?
Ophelia chuckled softly, "I'm not as bad as you. You were caught on camera checking into a hotel with Riley, and I never questioned you about it, did I? There's nothing between Thomas and me, but if you want to suspect something, I can't explain it away."
Indeed, she had a past with Thomas, and that was an undeniable fact.
Everyone had a past.
If comparisons were to be made, Robert's past was found to be more numerous and more excessive.
She didn't care about his past, so why should he care about hers?
Robert looked at her with a dark, brooding gaze. "You've been pushing for a divorce because you think the life I provide for you now can also be provided by Thomas. So, you have a fallback and can act recklessly with me. Is that it?"
His tone was icy, each word piercingly cold.
Ophelia's heart trembled.
Robert's eyes were filled with anger and intense impatience.
She had no right to blame him for thinking this way.
After all, the only reason she had been wavering about the divorce was because she was greedy for his money and power.
But she wasn't carefree enough; she was greedy on one hand and couldn't fully pretend to be affectionate on the other.
So, every time Robert made the news because of a scandal, she would max out his credit card.
The more designer bags she bought, the more rotten their marriage became.
She used to hate that Amelia was stuck in a rotten marriage with Patrick.
But how was she any different from her mother now?
Just as unambitious, just as cowardly.
The only difference was that ridiculous and shameful mental victory.
She didn't love Robert, and that was her pride.
She pretended to be magnanimous and nonchalant for three years, but she realized she had been deceiving herself all along.
If she didn't care about the women around him, why did Riley bother her so much?
Ophelia took a light breath and said, "Let's get a divorce."
She had mentioned divorce many times, but this time, it was the most solemn and serious.
It seemed she couldn't continue with him anymore.
She was starting to fear she would become just like Amelia.
Before, she wasn't afraid because she was sure of one thing: she loved Thomas, not Robert.
But now?
She wasn't sure.
Robert's voice was as calm as ever, "Are you sure? If we divorce, you get nothing. You know what my grandfather is capable of."
Or, even if she left with nothing, even if it ended in a bloody mess, would she still want to divorce and elope with Thomas?
It sounded like he was the villain breaking up their romance.
But she had gotten used to being Mrs. Brown. For three years, he had provided her with a life of luxury. He would quickly scan through her monthly credit card statements.
She earned a salary of $8,000 to $10,000 a month, but her monthly expenses were close to a million dollars.
It was easy to go from frugality to luxury, but going from luxury to frugality was harder than quitting drugs.
Had she really thought it through?
Robert had to remind her, "The designer bags you bought with my card, strictly speaking, don't entirely belong to you. If we got divorced, you can't take them with you without my permission, let alone sell them."
Ophelia stood there, her face turning pale inch by inch.
Her lips trembled as she forced a smile, "Robert, do you really care about those things? Do you have to be so petty with me? Don't you find it disgraceful?"
Robert scoffed lightly, as if he had heard a joke, "I have no other taboos or bottom lines, just one: I hate it when others touch what's mine."
"Argue with me, act out, I don't care. You're Mrs. Brown, so naturally, I'll spoil you and indulge you."
"I don't care about your past with Thomas; everyone has a past."
His voice paused, eyes darkening, "But one thing, the past is the past. I can distinguish between the past and the present. Can you? Can you tell the difference?"
Ophelia's body stiffened, a chill spreading from head to toe, almost numbing her.
Robert walked past her indifferently, "During our marriage, if you had any involvement with Thomas, you don't have to say it; I'll find out. If you didn't... I hope you didn't."
Ophelia smiled bitterly, "And if I did? What will you do to me?"
Robert didn't look back, only saying, "Then you'll regret it."
Katerina heard the argument upstairs.
Then, the sound of an engine starting came from the yard.
She came out of her room and saw Ophelia sitting on the stairs, her face buried in her knees, her thick, loose hair covering her face. She couldn't see her expression, but she could see her shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
Katerina walked over and sighed, "Mrs. Brown, the floor is cold. You should go back to your room and sleep. Tomorrow, I'll help you talk to Mr. Brown. He probably doesn't really want a divorce; he's just angry. The Browns have a traditional family culture. I've never seen any of the Browns get divorced."
Robert's parents had a politically arranged marriage, and their relationship was exceptionally stable.
Ophelia slowly lifted her head and looked at Katerina, saying softly, "What if I want a divorce?"
Katerina was slightly surprised, "Is Mr. Brown treating you badly?"
Ophelia didn't respond.
Katerina gently advised, "Mrs. Brown, if you get divorced, can you support yourself? You buy a bag on a whim that costs more than your annual salary. Don't be impulsive. Mr. Samuel Brown's intentions are clear: if you give the Browns a child, you won't be mistreated in the future."
Ophelia didn't feel humiliated at all; she just found it quite laughable.
She got up and walked towards the bedroom, murmuring to herself in a self-mocking tone, "Yeah, if I get divorced, I can't even afford a bag."
Having a child for the Browns could fetch a good price.
Everyone would think she was ungrateful, and she thought she was pretty despicable too. Clearly, if she just kept things as they were, she would have endless money, endless bags, and could continue living the luxurious life of "Mrs. Brown."
Why be so pretentious?
But she was so scared. Ophelia was dying, and another version of Amelia was about to emerge.
Even she couldn't respect herself.
So why should Robert respect her?
She was just a designer label hanging on him, useful when needed, discarded when not.
The black Cullinan was parked by the river.
Robert sat in the car, smoking one cigarette after another.
The car was filled with a choking smell of smoke.
He rolled down the window, leaning there, suddenly recalling many years ago—
It was back in high school.
He and his classmates went to an arcade, and in the mall, he saw a couple.
He didn't know the man, but the woman was his mother.
He ditched his classmates and followed the couple. They looked very intimate, like a married couple, but they weren't.
Blair was wearing a mask and, before getting into that Bentley, she looked around carefully.
Once she was sure no one was watching, she quickly got into the car.
Robert stood in the corner, coldly watching the Bentley drive away.
He always knew his parents had no feelings for each other; it was purely a political marriage.
But he never thought Blair actually had a lover.
Later, he found out that the man was his mother's first love.
What kind of family were the Embers?
Blair's father, Robert's grandfather, was in charge of Crestoria's legal affairs.
The Embers were a prestigious family, and Blair didn't have many options for marriage. Political marriages were all about alliances.
The Browns and the Embers were family friends, a perfect match. Blair was destined to marry into the Browns.
She and her first love were separated by Robert's grandfather.
But Robert never imagined he would witness his mother getting into another man's car.
Later, his classmates asked if that was his mom.
Robert, with a stern face, said, "No, you got it wrong."
That night, he went home with a sour face, slamming doors and yelling at the servants.
Blair was baffled and wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he couldn't control himself and told her to get lost.
The next day, he skipped school, bought a plane ticket to Aquilonia, and went skydiving.
The school called Blair, saying he missed a mock exam.
He directly blocked Blair's number and stayed in Aquilonia for a week before returning.
Blair couldn't do anything about him.
Since then, he had been cold and distant towards Blair, and their mother-son relationship became very strained.
He often wondered, if Blair didn't love his father, how could she have had him and Wesley?
In public, Blair was gentle and family-oriented, and Kieran Brown was handsome and generous, appearing to be a loving couple.
But in private, Kieran and Blair were as cold as ice, like two masked mannequins.
Love?
He didn't believe in that elusive thing.
Complete control was the only way to firmly hold onto someone. He didn't believe the other person would willingly stay loyal for a lifetime; he only believed in holding their lifeline, so they wouldn't dare, and couldn't, betray him.
Meanwhile, at Royal View.
Early the next morning, Juniper called for a courier.
Just as she sent out the lipstick, Clio's message popped up: [Juniper, why aren't you replying to me?]
Juniper replied perfunctorily: [I was too tired last night. Went straight to bed when I got home. Just called a courier to send your lipstick. Check for it.]
Last night, Juniper had dropped Clio off at her home, so she knew her address.
Clio hadn't expected that and was caught off guard.
But she played it off well: [Alright, I could have just picked it up from your place. No need for a courier. I was thinking of bringing some gifts and visiting. Maybe next time.]
Juniper's eyelid twitched as she read the message.
She replied directly: [Not convenient.]
Clio: [Why?]
Juniper: [Magnus doesn't like having outsiders at home.]
On the other end, Clio, holding her phone, was almost unable to keep her composure.
She kept typing...
Editing: Is it Magnus who doesn't like it or you? Juniper, what era are we in? Do you really need to keep such a tight leash on a man? Well, as a housewife, I guess your sense of crisis is strong.
But after typing a long message, she deleted it.
She replied instead: [Alright, let's have a meal together next time.]
Juniper didn't reply.
Magnus came down from the study upstairs and handed his phone to Juniper.
Juniper looked at him, puzzled, "What's wrong?"
Magnus frowned, "That woman from last night somehow got my WhatsApp number and just tried to contact me."
Juniper wasn't angry or upset; she seriously said, "Then just reply."
Magnus looked puzzled.
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