In the study, the atmosphere was far more harmonious—at least for one of them. Quentin sat in a cheerful mood, sipping his tea and quietly immersing himself in the satisfaction of the evening.
Across from him, Mr. Harris looked extremely irritated. "Having a wife makes your spirit a bit too bright, doesn't it?"
Quentin offered a light smile, setting down his teacup. "Having a wife changes everything, Dad. Though, why didn't you tell me my eldest brother's family was coming today?"
Had he known, he never would have exposed Amanda to Tiffany's venom.
Mr. Harris rolled his eyes. "You didn't say you were coming home either, did you? They showed up unannounced. How was I supposed to warn you?"
Quentin conceded the point with a nod. "So, why did you call me in here?"
At the question, Mr. Harris's expression shifted through several layers of conflict. He sighed deeply. "I've heard about what's happening with Javier. How do you intend to handle it?"
Quentin's gaze cooled. "It seems your informants are very well-informed, Dad."
"I'm your father, Tin. I hear things," Mr. Harris said, catching the hint of dissatisfaction in his son's voice. "Javier is your biological nephew. If you can... please show him some mercy. Don't hunt him down to the end of the earth, okay?"
Quentin lowered his eyes, offering no response. Mr. Harris sighed again, his voice weary. "You already hold 30% of the company's shares. I originally planned to leave 10% to your brother, 10% to your sister, and 10% to Javier."
He paused, a look of regret crossing his face. "But Javier... his ambition is too high. I fear he won't be peaceful in the future. So, that small company of his? Let it go. Leave him be. In exchange, I'm giving that remaining 10% to Amanda as her dowry instead."
At the mention of Amanda's name, the tension in Quentin's shoulders relaxed. He looked deeply at his silver-haired father. "Dad, if you take away Javier's inheritance rights like that, he won't let it go quietly."
Mr. Harris snorted, his voice firm. "My wealth, my shares. I give them to whoever I choose. Since he hasn't been honest, he can't blame me for being unmerciful."
Quentin shook his head with a faint smile. His father still didn't fully grasp the depths of Javier's dark personality. But it didn't matter. Giving the shares to Amanda was a move he could support. Even if his father was doing this to "protect" Javier by removing him from the line of fire, Quentin knew Javier would never stop fighting him anyway.
"Follow your decision then," Quentin stood up. "If that's all, I'm going back to my room."
"Your wife won't run away in the five minutes it takes to talk to your father, you rotten brat!" the old man shouted at his son's retreating back.
Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Amanda was struggling to keep her emotions in check. She refused to let her hatred for Javier bleed into her relationship with Quentin.
Growing restless, she began to wander around the room. She had always been careful about Quentin's privacy, but he had explicitly told her that this room was hers as much as his. She found herself at the bookshelf, curiously pulling down a few titles to pass the time.
As she reached for a book on a higher shelf, something slipped out from between the pages and fluttered to the floor.
Amanda frowned, bending down to pick it up. It was a photograph.
The image captured a vast, blue sea. A young girl, barely a teenager, was balanced on a surfboard, her face lit up with a brilliant, fearless smile as she cut through the waves.
Amanda's heart skipped a beat. She remembered that day vividly. She had been obsessed with the ocean as a child. Despite her brother Diego's warnings, she had snuck away to the beach alone.
The waves had been massive that day—far too big for an amateur. She had been having the time of her life until a rogue wave knocked her from the board. She knew how to swim, but the current was a monster. It had dragged her under, tossing her like a ragdoll until her lungs burned and her strength failed. As she began to sink into the dark abyss, a figure had appeared like a shadow in the water, grabbing her and pulling her back to the surface.
When she had woken up on the sand, Javier was there. He told her he was the one who had saved her.
As a young girl, she had believed she'd found her prince. She had given him her heart, her loyalty, and her life, all based on that single act of heroism.
But now, she held the proof of the lie. The photo was taken from the beach, moments before she fell. If Javier had been the one to save her, he couldn't have been on the shore taking this picture.
And why was it tucked into the book Quentin read most often?
With trembling fingers, Amanda turned the photo over. On the back, written in neat, familiar handwriting, was a single sentence:
"I hope you have a peaceful life."
A sob broke from her throat, silent and agonizing.
A peaceful life. He had wished for her peace while she had lived a life of absolute turmoil and betrayal.
Everything clicked into place with a terrifying clarity.
Javier didn't know about her allergies, but Quentin did.
Javier didn't know she loved roses, but Quentin had planted a garden for her.
Javier hadn't saved her from the ocean—Quentin had.
He must have been there, watching over her from the shore, and he was the one who had dived into the depths to pull her from the jaws of death.
"Tin..."
Amanda's legs gave out. She collapsed onto the floor, clutching the yellowed photo to her chest. Her heart ached with a dull, crushing weight. Tears fell like rain, soaking the image of the girl she used to be—the girl who had been loved by the wrong man for all the right reasons.
How much of a failure had she been? How could she have been so blind to the man who had been her guardian angel for a lifetime?