Love Me Back (Amelia and Daniel) novel Chapter 178

They were the ones being unreasonable. If Daniel didn’t want to support her, fine—but he actually had the nerve to just shrug it off and say, “Forget it.”

This was his so-called favoritism. For Violet’s sake, he expected Amelia to swallow her pride, to keep the peace no matter how much it cost her. Was that all she meant to him—someone who could endure anything, unbreakable no matter what they threw at her?

People aren’t born with endless patience; they’re just forced to stretch it, bit by bit, by swallowing one humiliation after another. After enough storms, you finally learn to grab your own damn umbrella.

Amelia yanked her hand free and pushed herself up from the table. “Don’t want to eat? Fine. Then nobody eats!” she snapped.

She gripped the edge of the table, ready to flip it over in a fit of rage—but it was too heavy, barely budging.

Fury burned in her chest and stung her eyes red. She didn’t care anymore. She swept her arm across the table, sending bowls and plates crashing to the floor with a deafening clatter.

Without looking back, Amelia strode out, afraid if she stayed a second longer she’d burst into tears. No way was she going to let them see her cry, give them another excuse to mock her.

She’d barely made it a few steps down the hall when Violet’s wailing followed her. Who knew what she was sobbing about this time? All she ever did was cry—cry, cry, cry.

But then again, a few crocodile tears could always win a man’s sympathy. If it were that easy, who wouldn’t use it?

Too bad not all tears are worth anything. Hers only ever earned her ridicule and scorn—just handed others a knife to hurt her with, nothing more.

Amelia’s walk turned into a run, faster and faster, until the only sound was the wind in her ears. Maybe someone was calling her, but she didn’t look back. She just kept running, the single thought pounding in her mind: Get out. Let them keep this place if they love it so much.

By the time Daniel made it downstairs, Amelia was gone. Her dusty-rose Porsche shot out of the driveway like an arrow loosed from a bow.

Chest heaving, Daniel tried calling her, but she didn’t pick up. The call went straight to voicemail—and immediately, his phone buzzed with another call. Mogan.

“Mr. Campbell, it’s all your wife’s fault—Violet’s been burned!”

Now look what she’d done—the so-called “peace” she’d managed with Violet was shattered all over again.

Amelia sat on the toilet for a while, mind spinning: Should she keep pretending, or just let it all fall apart? Either way, at least her emotions had calmed. She was back in control.

She stepped out, planning to grab an ice pack for her swollen eyes, and spotted the housekeeper at the stove.

Four o’clock in the afternoon—too late for lunch, too early for dinner.

“Why are you cooking so early? Heading out somewhere?” Amelia asked.

“Yep,” the housekeeper replied, expertly slicing potatoes. “Mr. Campbell wants me to cook for one of his friends for a few days. The new housekeeper won’t start until tomorrow, so I thought I’d get your dinner ready ahead of time.”

Amelia crouched down to open the freezer. A blast of cold air hit her with such force it seemed to freeze her from her legs straight to her heart.