Scum Daddy Dreams Of Stealing My Mommy!
Chapter 303: Look how she beat up Hope!

Chapter 303: Chapter 303: Look how she beat up Hope!

Ah?

Amelia stared at him, so embarrassed she wished she could disappear into the floor.

Is this what he meant?

So, was it her own dirty thoughts that went astray?

"Of course, if you’re kind enough to take care of another kind of ’need’ for me, I wouldn’t argue." His laughter deepened, with an even more devilish charm as his gaze fell on the woman’s smooth, porcelain skin, fresh from her bath, fragile enough to break with a touch. Desire surged through him. "You know, ever since our divorce, I’ve been as faithful as a monk until now..."

"Enough!" Amelia couldn’t take it anymore and cut him off sharply, hastily walking around to the other side of the bed.

"I don’t care which side you sleep on, but you’d better behave yourself. If you try anything funny, I’ll kick you right off!"

With that, she didn’t pay him any more attention. She climbed into bed, pulled the covers tightly around herself, and buried herself completely.

Christopher knew this was her way of hiding her embarrassment and emotional turmoil. Smiling, he decided not to tease her further.

He messaged Lucas King on WhatsApp, and about half an hour later, there came a knock on the bedroom door.

Originally, Amelia had buried herself under the covers simply to avoid interacting with him, but exhaustion overtook her, and she swiftly fell into a deep, unconscious sleep.

Christopher opened the door to retrieve the balm and wheeled himself quietly to her side of the bed.

He pulled down the edge of the blanket slightly, gazing at her peaceful, porcelain-like face and softly calling, "Amelia? Amelia?"

Her delicate features were flushed, whether from lingering embarrassment or the warmth of the covers. Her jet-black, thick eyelashes rested like butterfly wings on her lids...

His gaze lowered—her elegantly shaped nose, lips red and soft as cherries, the slightly open neckline of her bathrobe revealing glimpses of her curves...

He zoned out completely, mesmerized, forgetting his original purpose. Only one thought echoed in his mind—

Kiss her.

This was his Amelia, the girl who accompanied him from childhood, infused his youth, and had long since captivated his every thought and desire.

And yet, he had wasted four or five years of precious time.

Now, finally finding her again, how could he suppress the urgent beating of his heart?

His eyes clouded with longing as his handsome face moved closer, his thin lips pressing together and then gradually relaxing. At last, they gently brushed against her lips, fragrant and tender like flower petals.

His heart seemed to sigh in satisfaction, succumbing completely within a moment. His kiss deepened with every passing second.

Though Amelia was deeply asleep, when she felt her breathing obstructed, it didn’t wake her fully. Instead, she frowned slightly and turned her face away.

Startled, Christopher quickly pulled back, watching her intensely in alarm.

It was a false alarm.

She didn’t wake; she merely turned over, facing away from him.

He relaxed, his lips pressing together as his tongue unconsciously skimmed over them, clearly savoring the lingering taste.

This was their first kiss since the accident.

Of all things, it was stolen, like a thief in the night.

Thinking about this, Christopher let out a helpless laugh—Benny Palmer was right: he’d be trapped by this woman for the rest of his life.

Such cautious humility and submission—where was the dominant Christopher Hart now?

Forget it. Let himself be trapped; it wasn’t as if he could resist her anyway.

Returning to his senses, his expression steadied, his mind cleared.

Seeing her turn and inadvertently expose the side of her waist with an injury, he chuckled silently. He pulled back her robe and quietly, methodically applied the balm, covering the area with a soothing patch.

Throughout the process, his hands didn’t wander, nor did his eyes linger with ill intent.

Not because he was particularly gentlemanly—it was simply that he didn’t want to torture himself.

This broken body of his—who knows if it’ll ever recover? If it doesn’t, won’t the rest of his days be nothing but a fruitless yearning?

Sigh—

Later that night, Amelia was gripped by nightmares.

In her dream, she plunged into an endless abyss, the sharp pull of freefall shaking her awake with a violent jolt of fear.

Heart pounding, back chilled, she opened her eyes still disoriented, only to feel herself pulled into a strong, comforting embrace.

"Just a dream. I’m here..." That familiar voice soothed her, accompanied by a gentle hand patting reassuringly on her back. Her frantic heart quieted in an instant.

So it was just a dream...

He was here, right beside her.

An overwhelming sense of safety filled her, and she instinctively turned toward him, snuggling closer.

She didn’t question how he ended up in her bed, nor did she resist the intimacy. In her half-dazed state, she even asked, "Do you need help turning over..."

In the dim light, his expression shifted slightly—was it joy? Was it excitement? Whatever the emotion, he wrapped his arms around her more tightly, his voice rich and reassuring, "No, rest now..."

She was truly exhausted, having gone over a day and a night without proper sleep. Trustingly, she closed her eyes, surrendering to slumber once more.

Immersed in his soothing scent, secure and steady, she slept soundly without a single nightmare visiting her through the night.

————

Sunlight pierced through misty morning clouds, heralding the start of a new day.

Back at the airport where the crash occurred, the massive, shattered "metal box" still loomed precariously.

The scorched earth, blackened and desolate, resembled an apocalyptic wasteland. Just a glance stirred grief and brought tears to anyone’s eyes.

The death toll from the crash continued to rise.

No matter how hard the doctors worked to save the critically injured, they were unable to snatch many from the jaws of death.

As someone who experienced it firsthand, instinct screamed for her to escape any mention of the crash.

And yet, as a survivor, Amelia couldn’t help seeking updates, clinging to the hope of hearing that more victims escaped danger and survived.

This tug-of-war between emotions left her in a persistent low mood, with barely any energy.

Christopher, worrying she might develop lasting trauma, hired a professional to provide psychological counseling.

After two hours of therapy, she emerged to find him waiting anxiously at the door.

Her gaze landed on his eyes, brimming with concern.

"How did it go? Feeling alright?" He approached her, reaching out instinctively to clasp her hand tightly.

Not yet used to his sudden warmth, Amelia turned her wrist slightly, freeing it from his grasp. She answered softly, "I’m fine, just a bit tired. I’d like to rest for a while."

"Alright, go lie down. I’ll have a chat with the psychologist."

She nodded and headed to the room to rest.

Christopher stayed put, watching her settle into bed before wheeling himself away.

Outside, Benny Palmer and Lucas King waited alongside a team of others, all visibly worried.

"Following such a severe plane crash, the patient is displaying what we refer to as psychological stress responses—symptoms like nightmares, anxiety, fear, pale complexion, and difficulty sleeping," explained the psychologist.

Christopher’s expression hardened, his heart sinking. "That serious? Is it treatable?"

"With timely psychological intervention and medication, coupled with plenty of care and support from family and friends, recovery is possible. I’ll prescribe something for when the symptoms intensify, which can help stabilize her emotions."

"Alright..." Christopher nodded slowly, then remembered something. "Would she be able to fly again soon?"

Flying back from Dubai would take eight to nine hours. If they were somewhere within the country, driving back would’ve been an option.

But given the severity of her trauma, flying might be impossible in the short term, complicating their return.

Had it not been for the children waiting at home or his unstable birth family, he wouldn’t mind staying longer—it could serve as an impromptu honeymoon.

The psychologist shook his head, "In her current state, flying is not advisable."

"Got it. Thank you, doctor."

With this knowledge, Christopher felt uneasy leaving her alone in the room. He instructed Lucas King to collect her medication before returning to check on Amelia.

Amelia was lying on the bed with her eyes closed, but she hadn’t fallen asleep.

Upon hearing him enter,她 slowly opened her eyes, catching sight of his furrowed brow as he sat beside the bed, fixated on her.

"What’s wrong? Is my condition serious?" She adjusted herself to sit upright, leaning against the headboard with a faint smile. "Don’t let the doctor scare you; I think I’m fine as long as I avoid thinking about the crash."

Christopher mirrored her smile, habitually taking her hand to reassure her. "The doctor said it’s not severe. You’ll recover over time. Don’t worry."

"I’m not worried about myself—it’s the triplets I can’t stop thinking about."

As a mother, no matter where she went, her thoughts and concerns were rooted firmly with her children.

"I’ve been away for a week already. I know they’re missing me. Now that you’re here, the three of them are left at home..."

"Don’t worry. I’ve instructed Aunt Harper and Fuller to take good care of them."

While his words were reassuring, no mother would feel truly at ease unless she could see her children herself.

After some contemplation, Amelia looked up at him. "Why don’t we plan to return home the day after tomorrow?"

"The day after tomorrow?" Christopher’s face darkened. He eyed Amelia thoughtfully. "You mean to get on a plane now? And endure an eight-to-nine-hour flight?"

His question caused Amelia to visibly tremble, her face pale as she reflexively pulled her hand out of his grasp.

Seeing her reaction, Christopher felt a pang in his heart. The psychologist’s assessment had been spot-on—she wasn’t ready for air travel.

"Amelia, trust me. If anything happens, Fuller will notify us immediately. As for my mother... she’s still in the hospital, so she won’t be bothering the kids for now."

"Alright..." His assurances eased her worries slightly. "It should be afternoon in the country by now, right? Are they out of school yet? Why don’t you call them for a video chat?"

"It’s the weekend. They’re at home. Let me call them now."

Seeing she was more spirited, he figured talking with the kids might help alleviate her mental challenges further, so he promptly grabbed his phone and began a video call.

Back at the Imperial Garden Villa, Aunt Harper looked alarmed as the call came through. "Fuller, Mr. Hart is calling. What should we do? Miss Hope’s face is still swollen—the kids will surely notice!"

Fuller took the phone upstairs but was just as unsure.

Noah, occupied with his laptop, instantly understood what was happening when the video chat rang through. "Is it Mom?"

"Yes, Noah. Miss Hope’s injury..."

Without hesitation, Noah grabbed the phone. "Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything. They won’t blame you."

He answered the call, appearing first on screen.

Seeing her sons, Amelia’s face lit up with a smile.

"Sweethearts, did you miss Mommy?"

"Yes! Mommy, are you feeling better?"

"Yes, I’m better now."

Ethan poked his head into view and asked excitedly, "Mommy, when are you coming back? Look, I’ve missed you so much I’ve gotten thinner!" The little troublemaker grabbed his chubby cheeks, trying to prove his point.

Christopher couldn’t help laughing at his dramatic son. "I think you’ve been overeating without supervision—you’ve clearly put on weight."

"No way! I only had three bowls of rice at lunch, that’s all."

Turning serious, Amelia asked, "Noah, why don’t I see your sister? Where is she?"

Ethan tried to respond, but Noah quickly angled the camera away, saying, "Mom, Hope is still asleep."

"Still asleep at this hour? How will she fall asleep tonight?"

Before Noah could explain further, voices drifted from outside the study—Aunt Harper coaxing Hope not to join the call.

"Miss Hope, please listen to your brothers. We’ll call your parents later for a video chat—you shouldn’t go now." Aunt Harper pleaded softly, trying to keep the little girl away.

Bouncing with resolve, Hope protested, "No! I miss Mommy too! I want to ask Mommy when she’ll be back!"

Not only was her face swollen, but bruises marred her tiny body—especially her back, where she’d hit the edge of the coffee table. The injury left a large, visible mark.

Struggling to hold her without causing pain, Aunt Harper failed, and soon the feisty child wriggled free and ran into the study.

"Miss Hope! Miss Hope..."

Seeing his sister dash inside, Noah moved to prevent her. "Wait, Hope—"

Amelia’s ears perked up at the commotion. "Is Hope awake now? Get her over here to talk to Mommy."

Before anyone could react, Hope’s cherubic face filled the screen. "Mommy! When are you coming home? That old witch is so awful! She came yesterday and tried to take our brothers away, but I was super brave and protected them!"

Noah’s expression faltered, realizing he couldn’t hide the truth anymore. Sighing, he took over the phone. "Mom, I’ll explain. It’s not Aunt Harper or Fuller’s fault—don’t blame them. Hope has some injuries, but the family doctor came and treated her. It’s not serious..."

"Mommy! I was so brave yesterday! I even bit that witch! She probably won’t dare come back again!" Hope, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, continued bragging, expecting praise for her boldness.

Listening to Noah’s recount turned Amelia’s imagination wild. The details painted vivid, heart-wrenching images that drove tears to her eyes.

She had witnessed Emma Carter’s cruelty countless times.

The thought of them exploiting her absence to hurt her children made her heart ache unbearably.

Christopher noticed her overwhelming emotions but struggled to comfort her, choosing instead to gently stroke her arm.

"Amelia, calm down. I’ll get to the bottom of this right away..."

But calming down was impossible. Her anguish transformed into fury—a storm aimed directly at him. She didn’t care about the children still on the other end as she vented, "Christopher Hart! Didn’t you say your mother was in the hospital and wouldn’t bother the kids? Look what she’s done to Hope!"