Chapter 3

After I exposed his true colors, Sebastian's face darkened.

He threw the tissues in his hand into the trash can, unable to hide his disappointment as he said, "Amelia, you've changed."

"You used to be gentle, considerate, and understanding. Now you're sharp-tongued and vulgar."

I remained calm: "Mr. Quinn, if you flew all the way from New York just to criticize me,"

"Please, feel free to continue."

I didn't care much about his words and turned to leave.

Sebastian reached out to stop me: "Today is our son's birthday. He's been asking to see you."

"You must come with me."

Thinking of that face so similar to Sebastian's, with an identical personality, I felt disgusted and directly refused: "I'm busy!"

"The divorce agreement was very clear. I don't want custody of the son, but I send child support every month."

"Besides, didn't he desperately want your mistress to be his mom?"

"Why is he clinging to me now?"

Sebastian lowered his voice and said, "Amelia, is a $500,000 project enough to buy your presence at our son's birthday party?"

I paused.

For Sebastian, this dinner was just about an insignificant small project, not even worth a second glance.

But the entire project team had been working on it for three months.

They all hoped the negotiation would succeed, so they could use the bonus to pay off mortgages, fund their children's education, pay for their parents' medical bills...

I couldn't let them all down because of me.

"Fine, I agree."

After sending the drunk manager and project team colleagues to their cars, I opened the door of the Porsche Cayenne.

Sebastian drove personally.

On the way, he kept trying to make conversation.

From inquiring about my life to attempting to get my attention with talk of our son.

Unfortunately, I had no interest.

He talked, and I kept tapping away on my phone, sending messages.

When we arrived at the villa.

I had just gotten out of the car when a small figure rushed over, bumping into me painfully.

"Mom, why did you make me wait so long?"

It was my son, Liam Quinn.

He was wearing a well-tailored suit, looking exactly like a miniature version of Sebastian.

Ignoring the fact that I was wearing high heels, he dragged me into the living room.

The interior was lavishly decorated: expensive 3D models, flashy ribbons, various toys, and luxury goods crammed into the corners...

In the center of the coffee table in the living room sat an eight-inch mango cake.

Everything was so familiar.

I clenched my fists, my nails turning white, my body slightly trembling.