Chapter 64
64:
Christina’s grin dazzled, her eyes flickering with sly amusement as she watched Brendon. Who would’ve guessed her ex-husband could be this delusional, his mind crafting an absurd theory of her staging an act just for his attention? She cocked a brow, her voice laced with mockery. “You think I’m putting on a show for you?”
Brendon squared his shoulders, flashing a confident smirk. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing right now?”
With a low, melodic laugh, Christina dipped her chin and then lifted her gaze to meet his. “You really think I’d waste my energy just for you? Don’t make me laugh. You’re giving yourself far too much credit.” Her tone, velvet-smooth and edged with quiet derision, sliced straight through Brendon’s battered ego. He bristled, but the sting in her words gnawed at him.
Still clinging to denial, Brendon pressed on, his voice taut with frustration. “How much longer are you going to keep up this act? What is it you actually want from me, Christina?”
Deep down, he was praying she’d admit she still wanted him.
But Christina simply delivered a cool command. “Get lost.”
Jaw tight, Brendon replied stubbornly, “I’ll leave. But not until you bring out those ‘servants’ you have hired for this house.”
He wanted to catch her in a lie, to prove that she hadn’t chosen some supposed sugar daddy over him, and that she had been faithful to him during their marriage.
Before Christina could fire back at his nerve, the doors swept open. A procession of women filed in, each dressed in crisp, identical uniforms.
At their head strode a stately woman, dignified in her fifties, flanked by ten younger women whose expressions betrayed not a hint of emotion.
With everyone frozen in disbelief, the group of women stepped forward, forming a protective barrier in front of Christina.
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Every woman stood tall, hands folded gracefully at their waists, posture flawless and unyielding. Their uniforms, plain and spotless, exuded a quiet authority, and not a single detail was out of place—not even their perfectly manicured nails.
In unison, they dipped their heads in a polished bow. “Good day, Miss Jones,” they chorused, voices clear and respectful.
Brendon’s jaw dropped as he observed their smooth coordination and refined bearing. These were no ordinary servants—they resembled the kind of staff only the city’s most powerful families could afford. Was Christina truly connected to the legendary Hubbard family?
The thought flashed through Brendon’s mind, but he scoffed at himself a moment later. The Hubbard family was obsessed with their image. No way would they welcome a divorced woman, no matter how impressive her facade. No way. Christina had probably just hired a team of professional actors. He had to admit their performance was convincing, but not enough to shake his certainty.
Relief swept over Brendon, easing the tight knot of suspicion in his chest. A faint, self-assured smile played at his lips as he watched Christina maintain her “charade.”
Stepping forward, the stately woman, Aylin Chadwick, kept her head slightly bowed, her voice steady and deferential as she addressed Christina. “Miss Jones, we have been assigned to serve you from this day forward. I’ll be your head housekeeper—should you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Christina gave a subtle, dismissive smile. “Alright. Nothing much for now. You may go.”
She watched the servants file out in perfect silence, marveling at Dylan’s attention to detail—he’d even arranged an entire staff for her, though eleven people felt downright extravagant.
Once the last uniformed servant vanished through the door, Brendon lunged forward, seizing Christina’s wrist in a bruising grip. Christina’s eyes flicked down at his hand, her gaze turning sharp and frosty. “Let go of me,” she stated, her voice flat and glacial.
Brendon ignored her protest, suspicion curling around every word. “So these ‘servants’ of yours… what are they, hired actors you picked up for the day?”
She didn’t flinch. “I’ll say it one last time. Let go,” each syllable dripping with chill, daring him to defy her.
His hand trembled for a second—some old fear flickering behind his eyes—but then he doubled down, fingers digging in tighter. “Why can’t you just admit you’re putting on a show? Why keep pretending?”
Brendon searched Christina’s face, desperate for some hint of surrender, his brows drawn tightly. All he wanted was for her to bow her head and admit defeat. But she just stared him down, her stubbornness every bit as unyielding as his own.
He couldn’t understand it. Christina used to fold the moment he frowned, scrambling to please him at the slightest sign of annoyance. Now, she was someone else entirely—a stranger who no longer bent to his will.
From across the room, Yolanda watched the standoff, her stomach twisting with jealousy. She had never truly loved Brendon—not the way stories described—but seeing him so obsessed with another woman made something inside her ache and twist. Brendon’s relentless interrogation only revealed how deeply he still cared for Christina, whether he admitted it or not.
Yolanda felt uneasy. She couldn’t lose Brendon—not now. Not to Christina. Not after everything. Her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists, fury simmering just beneath the surface. Christina wouldn’t steal her future. Not this time. Just wait. One day, she would make Christina disappear from this world entirely. And anyone foolish enough to stand in her way would face a reckoning they’d never forget.
“I’m warning you. This is your last chance—let me go,” Christina said, her voice cool and steady, but the threat beneath her words was unmistakable. She stood perfectly still, her icy gaze locked on Brendon, daring him to test her.
Brendon met her glare with stubborn defiance. “And if I don’t? What are you going to do?”
A frosty chuckle slipped from Christina’s lips. “If you’re so desperate to find out, don’t blame me for what happens next.”
Before Brendon could react, the doors burst open, and a squad of armed men swept into the room with military precision, forming a tight perimeter around them. “Don’t move! Hands in the air—now!” The glint of cold steel and the unwavering aim of their weapons left no doubt—one wrong move and it would all be over in an instant.
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