Scum Daddy Dreams Of Stealing My Mommy!
Chapter 185 Who Climbed into Your Bed?

Chapter 185: Chapter 185 Who Climbed into Your Bed?

Chapter 185 Who Climbed into Your Bed?

At that moment, Christopher Hart was like a thief caught red-handed.

And Amelia Garcia was the rightful, indignant owner.

The disparity in their moral standings was clear at a glance.

Facing the woman’s scornful ridicule, Christopher certainly couldn’t admit that his restless blood was boiling from thoughts of her, that even a cold shower hadn’t helped—hence, he had sneaked over, hoping to hold her for some solace.

So, he quickly found another excuse, "Who climbed into your bed? I came to call you. Hope kept calling out for mommy in her dreams—didn’t you say you’d go to her if she needed you at night?"

Amelia crossed her arms and looked down at him, "Do you really think I’d believe that nonsense?"

The man grew angry and embarrassed, abruptly sitting up on the bed, causing the woman to flinch and step back in fear.

"Believe it or not, that’s the truth!" he retorted angrily, brushed past her, and strode away.

Amelia stumbled from his push, nearly hitting the wall, and cursed as she watched his retreating back, "Christopher Hart, maybe you should see a psychiatrist! I suspect there’s something wrong with your brain!"

Of course, the man didn’t respond and his figure disappeared.

Already unable to sleep, and after this disturbance, Amelia was even more wide awake.

Muttering to herself in frustration, she sat down by the bed, her expression still stormy.

A few minutes later, soft cries disturbed the silent night.

At first, she thought she was hearing things, but after listening carefully, she suddenly got up.

It was Hope crying.

Rushing to the master bedroom, she saw the man who had just returned to the room lifting their daughter, cooing gently to soothe her.

Yet the little girl, perhaps caught in a nightmare, struggled in his arms, unresponsive, while crying and babbling unintelligibly.

Amelia grew terribly worried and quickly approached, "What’s wrong? Having a nightmare?"

"Why are you here? Not worried I might do something to you now?" retorted the man as he consoled his daughter, his comment tinged with sarcasm.

Angrily, Amelia kicked him hard and then snatched her daughter into her arms.

"Ah—" Christopher, caught off guard, bent over in pain, rubbing his shin.

"No wonder the little brat likes kicking too; must be hereditary!"

"I kicked you! So what?"

Amelia rebuked him harshly, comforting her daughter gently as she turned and walked away, over and over again.

But Hope, as if she couldn’t hear, kept crying and struggling, at times calling for mommy, then daddy, then pleading "No, no."

Nearing five years old, the child’s small body was substantial in weight; her constant writhing was too much for Amelia, whose hold was becoming quite awkward.

"Can’t you hear her calling you?" After trying to console her for a good while, Amelia, with her arms sore, turned and snapped at the man, who was watching with cold indifference.

Christopher leaned against the headboard, unaffected by the yelling and even seemed to relish it, "She’s not even awake; it doesn’t matter who holds her."

How could that be possible! She’s crying like this and still not awake?

Amelia was at her wits’ end, seeing her daughter smeared with tears and snot, she growled, "Then can you at least bring a tissue to wipe her face?"

The man still wore a mocking smile, and after leaning there for a few seconds more, he finally got up to grab a soft tissue.

Amelia, unable to hold her any longer, sat down on the bed.

The man came over and wiped the tears and snot from the little girl’s face.

"Hope, mommy’s here, daddy’s here too, we’re both with you. Open your eyes and see... don’t be scared..." Amelia continued to soothe.

Perhaps exhausted from crying, Hope gradually calmed down, hiccupping as she opened her tear-filled eyes to look at her mother.

Without speaking, she just snuggled softly into her mother’s embrace, clinging to her like a sloth.

Finally, Amelia exhaled in relief and looked at the man, "Has she ever been like this before?"

"Well, there were quite a few sleepless nights before she turned two, especially when she was sick and uncomfortable. Waking up several times a night was normal."

Christopher Hart watched her closely with a serious gaze, his tone casual as he spoke.

"Clearly, she was distressed today, afraid of her mother being taken away, probably had a nightmare..." He paused, then continued.

Amelia Garcia looked at his indifferent expression and suddenly didn’t know what to say, so she fell silent.

No one knew better than her how hard it was to raise children.

In her baby’s first year, she had hired two Filipino nannies to take shifts, day and night; she herself had fainted from exhaustion multiple times.

She was overworked and severely sleep-deprived.

Back then, she was immensely grateful that Christopher gave her a ’youth compensation fee’ after the divorce, and she didn’t hesitate to accept it.

Otherwise, how would she have lived those years, trying to raise a child and pursuing a degree without any income?

Thinking of all this, she felt that the bastard still had a bit of conscience, and her expression softened.

"Actually... I’m quite surprised you’ve taken such good care of Hope," she reflected suddenly.

Christopher raised his eyebrows and looked at her, puzzled, "It’s rare to receive your praise."

"..." She pursed her lips and said no more.

Christopher gave her a glance, perhaps feeling a twinge of conscience, and added, "Raising two little boys must be even harder, right?"

Amelia didn’t respond.

She was afraid that if she started talking about the two sons, they would end up arguing again.

"Although they’re grown up now and it’s not as hard as when they were little, but these kids tend to get naughtier as they grow. How are you going to manage in the future? If you came back to me, at least... there would be one more person to help you out."

Just a moment ago, Amelia thought he had finally said something decent, but then he revealed his true motive—he still wanted her to bring the kids back.

She snorted coldly and said unapologetically, "Do you think you can handle them? Do you see them accepting you?"

They didn’t accept him as their father, so what was there to teach?

When this point came up, Christopher’s face turned cold again, "They don’t accept me, and whose ’great work’ is that?"

"Don’t just accuse people randomly."

"That’s strange! If not for your instigation, how could they be so hostile towards their own father?"

Christopher sat up straighter, his handsome face stern, "Amelia Garcia, you’re being very foolish to take out personal grudges on the children and using them to get back at me, do you understand?"

"I—" Amelia, holding the child, turned to look at him, wanting to clarify, to explain, but she didn’t know where to start.

This scene was all too familiar.

He was always quick to accuse her based on his assumptions.

Just like when he smeared her reputation back then.

They grew up together, knew each other for so many years, why was his understanding of her so superficial?

Was she that kind of person?

To involve innocent children in her personal grudges?

"If that’s what you want to think, then fine..." she was at a loss for words, paused, and then turned the conversation with that remark.

Christopher was also angered by her attitude.

Whenever there were conflicts or misunderstandings, she couldn’t be bothered to explain.

Always giving up hopelessly, throwing around this kind of defeatist talk.

"Can’t you drop that attitude? Can’t we talk things out properly?"

"Do you even believe me if I tell you?"