Chapter 414 A Slap
Robert had barely left when Ophelia's phone rang—it was Amelia calling.
Amelia's voice bubbled through the speaker: "Sweetheart, New Year's is coming up fast. I want you and Robert to come for lunch on New Year's Eve. Remember how much he enjoyed that pumpkin soup when he visited? Your father went all the way back to his hometown to get these special pumpkins from our relatives—I've tasted them, and they're incredibly sweet and creamy. Robert will absolutely love the soup I'm planning to make. You simply must bring him for lunch, then you can head to the Browns' estate together for the evening celebration with his grandfather."
Amelia rattled on without pausing for breath while Ophelia listened with half her attention, her mind elsewhere. When she didn't respond immediately, Amelia's voice sharpened with concern. "Sweetheart? Are you listening?"
Ophelia felt emotionally numb, finding the whole situation absurdly ironic. "Mom, how many times has Robert actually eaten at our house? When he complimented your pumpkin soup, he was just being polite—making small talk. You and Dad actually took that seriously?"
A man like Robert, born into privilege and raised on the finest cuisine money could buy, prepared by world-class chefs—would he really be impressed by a simple pumpkin soup?
Amelia's tone turned earnest and pleading. "Whether he genuinely liked it or not isn't the point. It's about showing we care. You're married now, which makes us family. You know perfectly well how much money he's invested in our company. Stop being so stubborn with him, and stop fighting us too. We only want what's best for you. You spend hundreds of thousands every month, and has he ever complained once?"
Ophelia felt a tightness in her chest and took a deep breath. "You're right—he doesn't mind my spending. But don't forget, Mom, just as easily as he can afford to keep me now, he can discard me like yesterday's newspaper when he gets tired of me. When that day comes, even if you and Dad got down on your knees and begged him, he'd still divorce me without a second thought."
Amelia dismissed this with a wave in her voice. "If you don't cause trouble, why would he ever want to divorce you? Have you been fighting with him again? Bringing up divorce?"
"What if he's the one who wants to divorce me, Mom? You still wouldn't support me, would you?"
A long silence stretched between them before Amelia's voice returned, more serious now. "How could I support you? Can you earn hundreds of thousands a month? What would you have left after a divorce? Your father's getting older, and there's no chance of his business bouncing back. He's barely keeping the company afloat, and our annual profits don't even match the value of your handbag collection. Without Robert, your father would have gone under years ago.
"Do you think divorce would set you free? Your measly ten-thousand-yuan monthly salary wouldn't even cover a decent apartment rental in Imperial Capital, let alone your lifestyle. Could you handle sharing a place with strangers? With your magazine located downtown and your salary, you'd be lucky to afford a shared apartment out in the suburbs.
"You always accuse your father and me of pressuring you, but if you actually divorced Robert, how long do you think you could survive that kind of life? You're used to first-class flights and private cars—could you really handle rush-hour subway commutes twice a day? If you're so eager for divorce, try living like that for a while first.
"You're not a child anymore, so I'll be blunt with you. This year alone, ninety percent of our company's clients only do business with your father because of Robert's influence. You have no idea how cutthroat business is now. Bidding processes are just for show—without Robert's backing, without the Browns' name, your father's company doesn't even qualify for the larger contracts.
"You call us selfish, but what have you contributed to this family at twenty-six? If you hadn't married Robert, your father would still be subsidizing your lifestyle to the tune of tens of thousands every month. I'm not being old-fashioned here—that car you drive cost over a hundred thousand, and your father bought it for you. The monthly maintenance and gas alone cost thousands. With your salary, you couldn't even afford rent and car payments.
"I want you to have a good life, but if you divorce, those clients will abandon your father's business immediately. When the company fails, have you considered what will happen to all three of us? Your father won't be able to support you, and you won't be able to take care of us in our old age."
By the end, Amelia's voice had cracked with emotion. "Think about everything I've said."
Amelia's quiet sobs came through the phone. She hadn't raised her voice once, yet every word felt like a blade sliding between Ophelia's ribs, each one opening a fresh wound. Amelia had always been more formidable than Patrick—she knew exactly how to manipulate her daughter's guilt.
But Amelia had made one valid point: if Ophelia wanted a divorce, she'd better learn to live without luxury first.
After hanging up, Ophelia sat on the closet floor and called a rental agent. When Robert mentioned divorce, he never bluffed—if he'd brought it up, he was already considering it seriously. When they reached that inevitable breaking point, she'd need to move out of Mission Hills Villa and learn to survive on her own.
The apartment and car Patrick had bought her would be reclaimed the moment he learned about the divorce. Rental apartments, subway commutes, cheap takeout meals—she wasn't sure she could handle it, or for how long, but she'd never know unless she took that first step.
Meanwhile, Magnus had just arrived at the care facility with Juniper in tow. The moment Ava saw Juniper, she recoiled in terror, cowering behind Magnus with her face drained of all color, muttering frantically, "She's Lyra's daughter. I won't see her. Magnus, make her leave..."
Magnus gripped Ava's trembling shoulders firmly. "She's not Lyra's biological daughter—she's adopted. She has no grudge against our family."
Ava shook her head violently, clearly spiraling into panic. "She's here for revenge! Magnus, we need to go! We can't see her!"
She grabbed Magnus's hand, trying to drag him toward the exit, but he pulled free and moved to stand beside Juniper. "Mom, I've been telling you about my girlfriend. This is her. We're planning to get married, and I need your blessing for Juniper and me."
Ava's eyes widened in horror. "She's your girlfriend?! No... no, she's here to destroy you! She must know, she must know... Son, we have to leave!"
She clawed at Magnus, but he remained rooted in place, taking Juniper's hand instead. "If you can't accept Juniper, then I can't bring you home for New Year's."
Juniper had mentally prepared herself for this encounter. After twenty years of mental illness, Ava's violent reaction to seeing the "enemy's daughter" wasn't surprising. But Ava's insistence that she was there for revenge—was that about Lyra's death?
Juniper spoke gently, trying to soothe her. "Mrs. Brown, I know you didn't kill my adoptive mother. I'm not here for revenge—please don't be afraid."
She tentatively reached out to take Ava's hand, hoping physical contact might calm her, but Ava's response was explosive. She lashed out wildly, and Magnus instinctively pulled Juniper back to protect her.
Ava's palm connected hard with Magnus's cheek instead.
Both Juniper and Ava froze in shock at what had just happened.
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