Revenge Of The Jilted Bride

Jilted Bride 59

Chapter 59

"Elia," Eric said gently, "your shoulders aren't that broad. Don't try to carry the weight of the world. There are too many people in the slums for you to help everyone."

Ophelia could help one or two people find jobs, but not all of them. Her mind raced through the grim scenarios she'd

witnessed sick people withering away because they couldn't afford medical care, newborns succumbing to the bitter cold, and angry young men whose only problem-solving tool was their fists.

The slums were home to hundreds. It was impossible for her to take care of everyone. She wasn't a savior. She couldn't help them all.

Felix fell silent for a moment, unable to meet Ophelia's gaze. He could only ask his lackeys to go door-to-door, returning the

money.

Ophelia left what cash she had with the old woman and the girl. As she left the slums, she had already pushed Harry's words to the back of her mind.

Anyway, Ophelia had no intention of letting the Hastings family off in this life.

Meanwhile, at the top floor of Hastings Group, Harry had just walked in with his secretary and appraiser when he saw Owen beaming at them.

Owen strode forward, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Well done, Harry. You've done an excellent job this time."

The auction had barely ended when Owen received numerous congratulatory calls about securing the West End Soccer Field property. He couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. His eldest son had stepped up to the plate and hit a home run on his first solo project. It seemed he could entrust the company to Harry in the future.

However, noticing Harry's uneasy expression, Owen glanced at the secretary and appraiser. All three wore grim faces.

His hand slipped from Harry's shoulder as a sense of foreboding crept in. "What was the final bid?" Owen asked, the earlier celebratory phone calls now taking on a sinister tone. Something had clearly gone wrong.

Gone was the doting father. "Speak," Owen demanded, his voice sharp as steel.

Harry swallowed hard. "80 million dollars..."

his ears. '80

his vision swimming as he struggled to stay upright.

"How the hell did you let this happen?" His fury

and the appraiser were both frustrated beyond words. It was not like they had forced Harry to keep raising the bid. They'd had enough of Hastings Group's constant bullying, and now they were being blamed for this mess, too. It

resentment. "Mr. Owen, it was your son who got into a bidding war. He kept raising the bid out of spite. We tried to stop him,

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Chapter 59

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Harry had acted on impulse, so they couldn't be blamed. If they had protested

chest, glaring at

into the auction someho kept outbidding me. That's

nothing more than to slap him right then and there, but he had to maintain some semblance of respect in front of his subordinates. If they'd been

"O-Ophelia," Harry mumbled.

Owen's frown deepened. Without the reminder, he'd almost forgotten he had such a daughter. "Gosh, Harry. When did you become as brainless as your brother? Huh? You should have just let her have it. It's not

down and stripped of any remaining dignity. He didn't dare open his mouth. He just hung his

stop me." Harry tried to shift the

left both the secretary and the appraiser speechless. They realized that if Hastings Group were to fall into Harry's hands in the future, bankruptcy wouldn't be far behind.

something? You said, and I quote, 'I'm the manager, so you have to listen to me,' and

in, "I'm sorry, Mr. Owen, but I can no longer fulfill my role as an appraiser

my resignation letter

the office, not even giving Owen a chance to ask

know they messed up. Too

grabbing a document off his desk and hurling it at Harry. He collapsed into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he racked his brain for a solution. The phone on his desk kept buzzing, no doubt a flood of sarcastic well-wishers. For a man like Owen, who prided himself on his reputation, becoming the laughingstock of Dellanex was a bitter pill to

dollars for a piece of land in the West End?' Owen

barked at Harry, "contact Ophelia. Find out which company she

to beg her?" Harry

"You choose - a seven-million-dollar loss or a 27-million-dollar loss. I'm not even asking you to contact her directly, just the company she's