Chapter 71

Landon watched Amelia thoughtfully, realizing she was still operating under her misunderstanding.

“Look, I’m just concerned about your welfare,” Amelia said hastily, worried he might misinterpret her words.

Perhaps it was the intensity of Landon’s gaze that caught her unexpectedly. In the soft lamplight, her skin glowed with water, held a tempting rosy hue, flush, smooth, and flawless.

I want to kiss her. The thought crossed Landon’s mind unbidden. This wasn’t mere physical desire—he genuinely wanted to feel those soft lips against his own.

Landon was startled by his own thoughts. He had a well-known reputation in their social circle for keeping women at arm’s length, yet tonight, somehow, she was making him want to break his rules. Her profile was striking, and her lips, slightly damp from the water.

His prolonged silence only increased Amelia’s anxiety. Her hands trembled slightly as she held her water glass. She took two quick sips to calm her nerves before explaining, “Look, Landon, I understand exactly what our relationship is. You don’t need to worry. I won’t get jealous or cause any trouble. As long as you’re happy, everything’s fine. Just let me know what you need me to do.”

Amelia paused for a moment and added, “I’ll start learning about childcare tomorrow so I can help take care of her after the baby comes.”

“You-” Landon was too angry to finish his sentence. How magnanimous of her, he thought to himself, offering to play nurse to my supposed mistress after childbirth.

“Mr. Kingsley, do you have any other instructions?” Amelia asked, finally lifting her head, sensing his lingering displeasure. Her earnest expression and tone were the picture of a dutiful employee.

Landon’s chest heaved twice. He closed his eyes, choosing to ignore her. Go to sleep.

“Oh, okay.” Amelia touched her nose, feeling a bit perplexed. Landon seemed particularly moody tonight, his temperament shifting like the weather from clear skies to a sudden storm.

Whatever, if I can’t soothe him, I’ll just sleep, Amelia thought to herself. He can’t stay mad forever.

Landon kept his eyes closed, fuming, only to realize eventually that Amelia had fallen asleep. In the end, he was the only one who ended up stewing in anger. Unbelievable, he muttered.

He grabbed his phone and fired off a text to Aaron: [Fire Lanny. Put Kenneth behind bars.]

Lanny was fired, and Kenneth was arrested, awaiting sentencing.

The next day at the office, Aaron practically skipped alongside Amelia, giving her a colorful account of how Landon had flown into a rage on her behalf.

She said, “Actually, we’d already gathered all the evidence, but Mr. Kingsley was worried Henry might lash out if cornered. We needed to wait until he recovered before making a move.”

“You know, Mrs. Kingsley, Mr. Kingsley really went to bat for you,” Aaron continued. “He wouldn’t have dealt with Kenneth this early if it weren’t for you.”

Amelia rolled her eyes and stopped in her tracks. “Aaron, are you seriously trying to make me feel grateful to him?”

“Oh, uh, not at all.” Aaron let out an awkward chuckle. He was just trying to help patch things up between the couple.

“Then zip it,” Amelia snorted.

“Right, sorry.” Aaron mumbled sheepishly. Still, he could tell that deep down, Amelia was pleased. After all, it felt good to have someone in her corner.

When Amelia pushed open her office door, she was surprised to find someone already inside. Her brows furrowed as she shot Aaron a questioning look.

“Mr. Patrick Kingsley, what are you doing here?” Aaron tensed, clearly caught off guard.

Amelia quickly pieced it together—this was Henry’s eldest son, Patrick, and his unexpected appearance spelled trouble. The timing was no coincidence. He’d been absent until Kenneth’s imprisonment.

“So, you’re Landon’s wife?” Patrick lounged against the sofa, his posture deliberately casual yet domineering, as if he already owned the office.

“Mr. Patrick,” Amelia greeted him with a professionally detached smile.

Her choice to address him as “Mr. Patrick” rather than “Patrick” was deliberate—a subtle power play establishing distance while pointedly reminding him of his place in Henry’s shadow.

Patrick studied her, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Well, well…you’re as clever as they say,” he chuckled, amusement lacing his voice.

“You’re too kind.” Amelia moved behind her desk and took her seat, deliberately projecting an air of authority. Her expression hardened as she asked, “What brings you here so early in the morning?”

“Just got back home,” Patrick replied and suddenly stood up. “Heard Landon find himself a wife. So I stop by and see for myself.” He strode toward Amelia with purposeful steps, his hand casually thrust in his pocket. Patrick’s imposing frame added to his intimidating presence.

Brooke took two nervous steps forward. Amelia was taken aback, a wave of tension washing over her. Didn’t the whole Henry clan despise Brooke? Why was she suddenly so wary of Patrick? she wondered.

“Gloria certainly has an eye for beauty,” Patrick remarked, his gaze sweeping over Amelia with an intensity that was unnerving yet strangely devoid of lust.

This is a man with iron self-control, Amelia thought, far more formidable than Henry or Kenneth. His scrutiny made her uncomfortable.

Amelia shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “If you’re here to compliment my looks, Mr. Patrick, please don’t bother,” she said coolly. “My appearance is a gift from my parents, nothing to be particularly proud of.”

“Fair enough. I don’t take pride in my own appearance either,” Patrick replied with an amused smirk, casually leaning against the edge of her desk, one leg dangling. His long fingers tapped lightly on the surface.

Amelia had to admit that Patrick was very attractive. Even a simple pose looked like something out of a magazine. But she was Landon’s wife. It was inappropriate for Patrick to flaunt his good looks in front of Amelia.

“I’ve heard all about last night. My father acted rashly. Please, Amelia, let it go.” Patrick’s tone was light, almost conversational.

Amelia scoffed, “Sorry, I’m not the forgiving type.”

Patrick chuckled, “Funny, me neither.”

Amelia was speechless, thinking, This guy is shameless.

“And then there’s my foolish younger brother,” Patrick continued. “Honestly, I never thought he’d tamper with Landon’s car. He could have killed him.”

Amelia simply snorted. Sometimes, silence spoke volumes. “Young people need to learn their lessons,” she sneered. “Perhaps some time behind bars will do him good.”

Patrick’s hand, poised to tap the desk, froze in midair. His eyes locked onto Amelia’s, sending a shiver of unease down her spine. “Amelia,” he said with a chilling smile, “to express my apologies, how about I take you to lunch?”

But there was no way Amelia would share a meal with him. Some people were best kept at arm’s length—preferably for life. “I have too much work today,” she said curtly, making a show of focusing on the documents before her.

“Oh, that’s no problem at all,” Patrick replied smoothly. “I’ve got all the time in the world.” He rose languidly, strolling over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. After taking in the view, he settled himself on the sofa, leisurely flipping through a magazine.

Two hours passed, and Patrick showed no signs of leaving. Every time Amelia glanced his way, she found his eyes always on her, his expression full of smug patience, like a cat toying with its prey.

You want to play the waiting game? Amelia seethed internally, maintaining her composure. Fine. Let’s see who breaks first.

As lunchtime approached, Amelia’s stomach growled. She set aside her work, planning to grab a quick bite at the company cafeteria.

“All done?” Patrick asked with an irritatingly pleasant smile. “Let’s do lunch.”

“Mr. Patrick,” Amelia said with barely concealed patience, “I have a packed afternoon. The cafeteria will do just fine.”

“The cafeteria?” To her surprise, Patrick actually agreed. “Sure.”

Amelia could hardly believe this guy. Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any more absurd, she thought, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Fine. Let him slum it in the cafeteria if he wants. The sooner he eats, the sooner he leaves.