Scum Daddy Dreams Of Stealing My Mommy!
Chapter 356 The Meaning of the Word "Sleep

Chapter 356: Chapter 356 The Meaning of the Word "Sleep

Seeing the squabbling come to an end, Benny Palmer was utterly pleased with himself. He chuckled smugly before taking the initiative: "Calling me in the dead of night—surely it wasn’t just to mock my lack of taste, was it?"

Christopher only then remembered the real reason for his call.

But after Benny’s torrent of ridicule from earlier, asking how to unlock the elevator now would be...

Mr. Hart’s expression darkened, far heavier than the night sky outside.

Detecting his continued silence, Benny deliberately threatened, "If you don’t talk, I’m hanging up—I’m busy."

"What’s the rush? Reincarnation on a schedule?" Christopher snapped back with urgency, stopping him.

Benny waited expectantly.

"Well... uh, is the indoor elevator locked? Can you unlock it remotely?" Christopher swallowed his pride and asked, begrudgingly.

"The elevator?" Benny paused before recalling, "Oh... When Amelia moved in with the kids, she asked me to lock it. Said she was worried the little ones might mess around and get hurt playing with it."

A realization dawned on him, and then surprise flashed across his face: "So you went over there late at night to play nice, only to end up deserted downstairs?"

Mr. Hart: "..."

"Tsk, tsk. What a pitiful sight!"

Christopher had reached his limit. "Believe it or not, I can make you feel even more pitiful."

"Oh no, I’m shivering with fear!"

"Benny Palmer, you’ve gone too far!" His warning verged on extreme danger.

Benny burst into laughter, unrestrained. Only after indulging in his mirth did he offer mock sympathy, saying, "Hold on... Let me figure out how to unlock it remotely. I’m not very skilled at this yet, don’t get impatient, yeah..." Obviously, he was stalling on purpose.

"Hurry up!" Christopher seethed, ending the call bitterly.

Damn it! How utterly humiliating!

————

Back in her bedroom, Amelia was in high spirits. She hummed as she headed to the bathroom to wash up.

It wasn’t that she intended to abandon him entirely.

After all, in this bitter cold, if he froze half to death, wouldn’t it ultimately be her problem to deal with?

So, her plan was to leave him for a bit, and once she finished bathing, she’d be kind enough to send him a blanket downstairs.

Couldn’t blame her for this.

Seriously, how could a delicate woman like her manage to lug a strapping Mr. Hart up to the second floor?

Going out of her way to trouble Benny for the elevator? She wasn’t that shameless.

People might even think the two of them deliberately abandoned the kids to sneak off for a sinful "couple’s retreat."

A tree has its bark, and people have their pride. She had to nip that kind of misunderstanding in the bud.

But the one thing she hadn’t foreseen—when she stepped out of the bathroom humming a tune and raised her eyes, she was startled into shrieking "Ah!" on sight, her body instinctively retreating and slamming against the bathroom door with a loud "bang."

Her head buzzed...

"Christopher! Are you trying to kill me?!" She shouted, the curses slipping out uncontrollably.

Mr. Hart sat in his wheelchair directly in front of the bathroom door, his handsome features neither cold nor warm, his dark eyes contemplative—as if waiting for her like some patient predator.

Seeing her pale with shock, nearly smashing the glass door, the man propped one hand against his wheelchair’s armrest, his slender fingers tracing the clean angles of his jawline, and nonchalantly asked, "Did you do something guilty, to be scared like this?"

Suppressing her chaotic heartbeat, Amelia snapped back irritably, "It’s you who’s terrifyingly creepy!"

"Is that so?" He continued stroking his handsome jaw with growing laziness in his tone. "Funny, wasn’t there someone once who wouldn’t shut up about how ’Brother Christopher is so good-looking, even better than the stars on TV’?"

And now she found him creepy?

"..." Amelia went red, refusing to dignify him with a response. She scrutinized him briefly before narrowing her eyes: "Your legs... Are they fully healed? Have you been tricking me?"

The man dropped his hand, sitting upright as his face grew distant. "I wish."

No healing?

Then, that meant he had used the elevator to get up.

Amelia’s expression turned disdainful. "Don’t you find it embarrassing to call someone in the middle of the night for such a dumb thing?"

Her words instantly soured his mood.

"When are you going to marry me? When will you move to the Imperial Garden?"

Amelia stared at him, utterly bewildered.

Where was that coming from?

She turned to her bed, tossing him a glance. "No plans for now."

"Then plan now—give me a date."

"What’s wrong with you? You show up at midnight just to ask this?"

"It’s important."

"Really? Considering how things are between us now, does it matter whether we’re married or not?"

"Of course it matters. Without a name or official status, doesn’t it hurt my pride?"

Oh, the thick-skinned scoundrel—talking about pride now?

Amelia laughed mockingly, deliberately acting contrary: "Pride? How much does it cost per pound? Can it be served for dinner? You’re old enough to know life is for yourself—not to impress others. Stop caring so much about..."

"Yawn—" She interrupted her own speech with a huge yawn, squinting her eyes as she sleepily added, "...what others think... Sorry, I’m too tired. Either take a shower and sleep, or get lost. Don’t wreck my beauty sleep."

Before finishing her words, she dove under the covers, wrapped herself snugly, and closed her eyes.

"..." Christopher was so enraged his entire being felt as if it might combust.

If it weren’t for his legs, would he ever be this humble? Subjected to such indignity?

He’d have pounced on her already—ravaged her tirelessly until dawn, left her utterly worn out, and carried her off to the marriage registry while she was still dazed!

But despite his boiling rage, he found her lengthy yawn contagious and couldn’t help but yawn himself.

Ah, indeed, he was tired. Sleep was in order.

Such a rare moment: no bodyguards, no servants, no children...

A perfect opportunity for "sleeping"... How could it go to waste?

Amelia was sinking into hazy slumber and vaguely heard the sound of activity in the bathroom. Sleepily, she thought, this guy’s self-care skills aren’t bad.

Before long, there was another commotion nearby.

But it seemed to be dragging on endlessly.

"Hey! Wake up!" She was seconds from drifting off when someone shook her shoulder.

No need to open her eyes—she already knew who it was. With a grumpy gesture, she waved him off and turned over: "Leave me alone!"

"Wake up! I... I can’t get onto the bed. Help me." Christopher continued shaking her shoulder, his tone humbled and disconcertingly pleading.

Basic hygiene and grooming he could manage from his wheelchair; he’d mastered that.

But getting onto the bed? That he still couldn’t do.

Amelia was truly worn out, and besides, she felt somewhat conflicted about sharing the bed tonight. So even though she heard his request clearly, she didn’t move—holding her ground.

Christopher was patient and waited.

Several minutes later, the woman unwillingly opened her eyes. Overtired, her bloodshot gaze made her stare even sharper.

But Mr. Hart wasn’t fazed, and he urged her again: "Come on—my legs are freezing into popsicles."

Amelia looked down and noticed his pants rolled up high, with the blanket he usually kept across his legs nowhere to be seen.

Grinding her teeth in frustration, her blood boiled with resentment. Damn this man—he really was her kryptonite!

Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed with determination. Not so gently, she hoisted him up and transferred him from the wheelchair to the bed without ceremony, practically tossing him in.

But in a twist, the bastard was already prepared—grabbing hold of her mid-fall—

And just like that, they ended up tangled face-to-face on the bed.

"Christopher! What are you doing?!" She was livid.

The man’s charming face held a devilish smirk, his gaze suddenly sultry. Shamelessly, he replied, "Sleeping, of course."

But his eyes unmistakably said "sleeping with you!"

Amelia struggled to wriggle free, trying to sit up. But having already fallen into his clutches, how could she escape unscathed?

As their entangled squabble wore on, her voice grew weaker. "You... Christopher, you bastard! Pervert... Quit it—I’m so tired... Not in the mood tonight... Ow! You’re pulling my hair—it hurts!"

"Amelia, save your energy from cursing me—because shortly, you’re going to need every ounce of strength you’ve got."

"..." What a cosmic-level shameless rogue.