His Final Betrayal Was My First Move Chapter 29

His Final Betrayal Was My First Move Chapter 29

“Amelia.”

Just as she reached the hotel lobby, Amelia was stopped by Daphne, who had chased after her. Cold air poured in from the revolving doors, instantly clearing her head.

Daphne walked quickly to her side and whispered viciously, in a voice only the two of them could hear, “I’ll make sure your reputation is ruined in Boston and the entire Ivy League.”

Before the words had fully landed, she saw the group of alumni emerging behind them. Daphne’s expression switched instantly. She looked at Amelia in terror, as if Amelia were a monster. Then she pretended to be shoved, her body pitching backward dramatically as she tumbled down the smooth marble steps at the lobby entrance.

“Ah!”

Her scream came at the precise moment everyone’s attention was on them.

“Daphne!”

Mark and the others rushed over. What they saw was Daphne sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, clutching her ankle in pain, while Amelia stood coldly at the top—a perfect, irrefutable image of attacker and victim.

“Amelia! How could you do that to her?”

“This is too much! Someone should call the police!”

Accusations surged around Amelia like a tide.

Just then, a Porsche screeched to a halt at the hotel entrance. Griffin rushed out of the car. He took one look at Daphne, surrounded by supporters and sobbing, and Amelia, standing in the center, expressionless.

The nerve in his brain labeled “protect Daphne” was instantly triggered. Without a second thought, he rushed to Amelia and shouted, “Amelia, how long are you going to keep causing trouble? Apologize to Daphne right now!”

“My eyes work just fine.” Amelia looked at him sarcastically, her gaze flicking to the dome camera above his head with its blinking red light. “Yours clearly don’t. The hotel’s high-definition security cameras aren’t just for decoration.”

Being talked back to by Amelia made Griffin’s face flush. He pulled Daphne protectively behind him, an action rehearsed so many times it had become muscle memory.

“You can’t take your resentment out on Daphne just because I don’t love you! Amelia, this is assault!”

“You really think too highly of yourself.” Amelia almost laughed. His idea of gentlemanly conduct was to defend another woman at all costs, even if it meant trampling the truth.

A black Bentley slid silently to the entrance and stopped beside Griffin’s flashy Porsche.

The car door opened, and Julian Mercer stepped out.

Seeing Amelia being mobbed by the crowd, his eyes instantly turned cold. He strode forward and pulled her behind him, shielding her with a gesture that was both forceful and gentle.

He didn’t lose his temper. In a tone so calm it was chilling, he said to Griffin, “It seems Whitaker’s venture capital firm has too much free time on its hands.”

Griffin’s face went pale.

Julian didn’t look at him again. His gaze slowly swept over every “elite alumnus” present.

“From now on, I don’t want to see anyone who was here tonight in any institution, company, gallery, or museum funded by the Mercer Family Foundation.”

The lobby fell dead silent. Faces lost all color. Others stared in disbelief.

At that moment, the hotel manager, the highest-ranking person in this Mercer-owned hotel, hurried over with two security guards. He gave Julian a respectful bow, then held up an iPad. On the screen, the security footage was looping: the entire, undeniable process of Daphne staging her own fall.

Julian ignored the group of petrified “social elites.” With his arm around Amelia, he walked straight to the Bentley, as if he had just cleared away some trash from the side of the road.