Scum Daddy Dreams Of Stealing My Mommy!
Chapter 43 Amelia Garcia, I’ve hated you for four years!

Chapter 43: Chapter 43 Amelia Garcia, I’ve hated you for four years!

Could it be that they left on bad terms because of me?

Seeing that the woman did not speak, he lifted his hand to his forehead, then looking at the blood on his hand, he frowned, "You didn’t use to wear lipstick... It looks terrible."

Amelia Garcia was taken aback, not understanding what he meant.

Was he referring to the kissing incident at the hotel earlier?

Her cheeks suddenly heated up, and with a stern face, she said coldly, "You’re drunk. Go rest and stop causing a scene."

The man raised his hand, his handsome face struggling to lift, "Help me."

"..."

"I’m telling you to help me. Don’t you understand?"

Amelia turned her head to look around, preparing to find a servant to come over.

But the man suddenly shouted, "I don’t want anyone else! I just... want you! Hurry up!"

Amelia clenched her teeth, holding back her displeasure.

He was indeed the same as before!

Usually well-dressed, scholarly and elegant, but a few drinks revealed his domineering and arrogant nature!

Knowing that it was impossible to reason with him at this time, Amelia just wanted to get him back to his room and leave, so she endured and bent down.

"Stand properly on your own, otherwise I can’t support you."

The man remained silent, simply putting most of his weight on her.

Amelia immediately winced in pain; the weight felt like how Monkey King must have felt trapped under the Five Elements Mountain.

Halfway up the stairs, she suddenly lost strength, her body swaying to the side and hitting the railing.

The intense pain made her grit her teeth, but the instigator, far from being sympathetic, scorned her with utmost contempt, "Stupid to death... Such a stupid woman, indeed... no, could not possibly be the mother of my daughter."

Amelia, stunned by his words, suddenly let go of his hand and pushed him hard against the railing.

Normally, a drunken man would lose his balance and roll down the stairs when pushed like that.

But President Hart, for some reason, reacted very quickly, grabbing the railing and stabilizing himself.

Still, he had a dazed smile on his face, and his chest heaved heavily.

"What, did I... say something wrong?"

Amelia stared at him, speechless, and after a few seconds of silence suddenly turned and walked downstairs.

Whatever! He’s not her man, anyway.

Christopher Hart swayed as he smiled, made no attempt to stop her, but then looked up and yelled toward the upstairs, "Hope... Baby, daddy’s home... Come help daddy... Daddy got hit by a car... I’m hurt, it hurts... it hurts—"

The woman, who had almost reached the bottom step, suddenly froze.

Hit by a car?

So, were his head injuries caused by a car accident?

But if he had been in a car accident, why hadn’t Benny Palmer and the others taken him to the hospital? Why take him to drink instead and then send him home?

Amelia cursed inwardly: What kind of terrible friends!

She turned back, went up in a few strides, and stood in front of him, asking, "Besides your head, where else are you injured?"

"Who are you?"

"Do you want to go to the hospital? I’m not concerned about you; I just don’t want you to scare the child."

"You’re not... not Amelia Garcia." The man pointed and shook his head.

The woman took a deep breath inwardly, clenching her fists, "Christopher Hart, can you talk properly?!"

"You said... Clarke... Clarke Norton."

"..."

Furious, she suddenly reached out, her thumb pressing down hard on the bleeding spot on the man’s forehead!

"Ah... it hurts!" The tall and sturdy President Hart, overcome by the sudden pain, screamed miserably, clutching his head and crouching down.

"Are you trying to kill yourself!" he roared furiously.

But Amelia Garcia didn’t pay attention to him and grabbed him, hauling him up the stairs once again.

Actually, it wasn’t even hauling, as she couldn’t really lift him.

That scene would be more accurately described as "dragging" or "pulling."

"I’m hurt... you’re abusing me—"

"Slow down... I’m dizzy..."

"Don’t think I won’t hit you! Amelia Garcia, I hate you... I’ve hated you for four years! Don’t provoke me!"

It was unclear whether Christopher Hart’s incessant muttering indicated actual drunkenness or if he was feigning it.

But the fact that he had been in a car accident was true.

Thankfully, due to the good condition of the car, he only suffered a scraped forehead from hitting the door frame.

So, when Benny Palmer and Lucas King arrived, they handled the traffic incident and took him away.

They went to dine, and as he was in a bad mood, he ordered several bottles of wine and ended up drinking too much.

Whether he was truly drunk to the point of losing consciousness, only he knew.

Exhausted and in disarray,

Amelia Garcia finally managed to get him into the bedroom.

"You... help me undress, it’s so hot..."

The man lay on his back, his long legs still awkwardly draped over the edge of the bed, waving his arms feebly.

Amelia Garcia stood beside the bed looking down at him.

For some reason, Christopher Hart’s drunken state seemed somewhat pitiable.

She stared blankly for a few seconds, then suddenly came to her senses, thinking there must be something wrong with her brain.

After all, he was Christopher Hart, a major figure who wielded power in this city. Did he need anyone’s pity?

She’d better look after herself first!

"Mr. Hart, you and I have no relation, and it should stay that way. You have a lovely daughter, it’s a pity I’m not her biological mother, unfortunately."

She wanted to say more, but felt as if she had too many words stuck in her throat and didn’t know where to start.

Lastly, she simply chose to remain silent, stepping forward to pull the blanket over him.

Deep down, she told herself this was their final entanglement.

Since he had "broken up" with Lily Garcia, she no longer had to worry about her daughter falling into the hands of a cruel stepmother.

All she needed to do was to watch over her daughter from a distance, making sure she was well.

After tucking him in, she straightened up, ready to leave.

But unexpectedly, her wrist was suddenly grasped.

"Ah—"

Startled, she turned around only to be suddenly pulled down by the man, falling heavily into his arms.

"What are you doing!" Amelia Garcia shouted in anger, quickly struggling to get up.

But a drunken man knew no reason.

Christopher Hart held her tightly, his face carrying a wicked, blurred expression, as if he were playing a game with her.

His gaze made Amelia Garcia feel inexplicably guilty, and after a moment of hesitation, she pushed him again.

This push sent all the tumultuous alcohol in his stomach up—

With a "whoosh," Christopher Hart let go of his hands.

Caught off guard and using too much force, Amelia stumbled backward as he suddenly released her, crashing into the bedside table and falling to the ground.

Her back seared with pain, and before she could get up, she saw the man struggle to sit up...

"No! Stop, hold it back!" She cried out in fear, waving her hand back as she retreated, but she couldn’t escape.

The strong smell of alcohol hit her face, her dress soaked, carrying a warmth that seemed to sear her skin.

For a moment, Amelia Garcia wished she could jump into the Pacific Ocean to clean herself off.