Karma Doesn’t Sleep: The Revenge Queen Rises novel Chapter 145

“Alright.”

Amelia wasn’t about to let it go. “Promise me you’ll sign a contract. Something official, saying you’re giving it to me willingly.”

Clive stared at her, caught off guard by how blunt she suddenly was. He hadn’t expected Amelia to get so practical, so fast.

But the look on her face told him she was dead serious. And honestly, after tonight, he owed her. He sighed and gave in. “Okay. I promise. I’ll sign whatever contract you want.”

Amelia’s phone was still recording. Without a word, she tapped pause.

Clive didn’t walk her up to the stage himself. Instead, he brought her over to Michael.

That move was all anyone needed to see. It said Amelia was Michael’s date, not his. Clive was just being the good guy, stepping in to help a friend out.

Michael had no idea what to say. He didn’t even like Amelia, but right now she looked so lost and fragile that he couldn’t help feeling bad for her.

She looked pale and beautiful, her face set in a brave mask. Michael’s eyes softened with sympathy. Anyone could see how much she loved Clive. She was putting on a show like she didn’t care, but inside, she had to be hurting.

Kristen watched as Michael escorted Amelia onto the stage. The corners of her mouth, which had started to droop, curled up again in a satisfied smile.

Amelia’s seat was right next to hers.

No doubt about it—Amelia was just there to make Kristen look even better.

“Wait,” Amelia called out as Michael started to step off the stage. “Can you bring me a chair? And some fruit? I’m starving.”

Michael blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Standing up there was exhausting, especially with the crowd watching her like she was some kind of circus act.

But if she sat down, maybe she could flip the script—let them watch her on her own terms.

Michael was still feeling sorry for her, so he played along. He grabbed a chair and even brought her a plate of grapes.

The Rose Ceremony officially kicked off. The lights dimmed, leaving only a few spotlights on the stage.

Down below, the city’s rich sons started throwing around money, buying roses for the women on stage.

Kristen, of course, was the clear favorite.

“Mr. Windsor sends ten white roses to Miss Kristen.”

“Mr. Hughes sends twenty red roses to Miss Kristen.”

It was a rich man’s game—each bid was hundreds of thousands like it was nothing.

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