Chapter 82
Passersby couldn’t help but cast their gaze toward this woman as if every extra glance was a subtle pleasure.
Rosalind raised her hand to shield herself from the glaring sun, a deep grievance welling in her heart.
During the days she spent loving,Chester, she’d thought about it often. If true love meant breaking free of all restraints, if it was about freedom, then loving Chester couldn’t possibly be a sin.
Her feelings were sincere and daring. She dared to step beyond the boundaries of societal norms. That was the price she willingly paid for a love she believed to be grand and beautiful.
But Megan, her closest friend, just couldn’t understand her.
As the thought settled, tears welled up in her eyes. Her love felt like an inevitable, solitary voyage into the unknown.
Angelina was fuming under Chester’s watchful eye, refusing to speak to him the entire way home. Chester glanced at her silent profile and figured she must be exhausted.
Once they got home, he habitually brushed cat fur off the sofa, while Angelina disappeared straight into the bedroom.
What was even the point of her recovery period after childbirth? She still wasn’t allowed to indulge in spicy food. Worse yet, she couldn’t wear short skirts or dress up and put on makeup.
When Chester entered the room, she lay sprawled on the bed, face buried in the covers, exuding pure dejection.
“Get up,” he said, his voice calm but firm.
“Go away. I don’t want to see you,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the blanket.
He sighed. “Didn’t you ask me last time how much money I have in the bank?”
At those words, Angelina turned to glance at him “Alright, spill. How much?” she demanded, curiosity flickering through her frustration.
Chester held up six fingers silently.
Angelina smirked. No matter how angry she was, money still spoke louder than pride. “60 million?” she guessed.
He shook his head. “Guess again.”
“Six million? Fine. Six million is still good,” her tone deflated noticeably.
Chapter 82
“600 million dollars,” he said, his eyes fixed on her.
“What?” she asked, blinking. The words floated around her mind, too ridiculous to land.
“There’s 600 million in that account. Keep it safe. I’ll make more in the future,” he assured
her.
He lay down on the bed, kicked off his slippers with a crisp thud, and clasped his hands behind
his head.
Angelina’s hair swept across his cheek. “600 million?” she whispered.
“Mm–hmm,” he murmured, eyes closed.
“You’re not joking, are you?” she asked, her voice wavering between disbelief and hope.
She suddenly recalled how a certain business magnate once suggested setting a small and achievable goal, such as making your first million. That kind of outlandish fantasy… could it really be happening?
“Chester,” she breathed.
He opened his eyes slightly. “You said you trusted me. Why are you so surprised now?”
“Ah! 600 million?” Angelina shrieked in excitement.
Barefoot, she dashed to the dresser, rifling through a stack of debit cards before snatching one out. She kissed it repeatedly.
“Oh my God, is this really 600 million?” she squealed.
It felt almost criminal to stash a card holding that kind of fortune in a cramped, nondescript drawer. She leaned in for another kiss.
“Sorry, baby. I’ll keep you in a velvet box,” she promised, grinning.
As she was about to kiss it again, Chester snatched the card from her hand, his face full of disdain.
“Give it back! It’s mine!” she protested, reaching for it.
“There are germs on it. Don’t you think it’s dirty?” he teased.
“It’s not dirty. This is money! Cold, hard cash!” she shot back defiantly.
Her shameless, money–hungry expression was just too amusing. Chester ruffled her hair. “Be good. Whatever you want, you’ll have.”
Angelina’s grievances evaporated like mist. She nodded mechanically, and the next second, he tilted her chin up and pressed her down onto the bed…
