Amanda's legs suddenly gave out. Fortunately, Quentin was right there to catch her by the waist, asking worriedly, "What's wrong?"
Amanda forced a weak, strained smile. "I've just been standing too long. My legs are a bit tired."
She couldn't tell him the truth: that the mere sight of Derrick Kent had terrified her so deeply her knees had turned to jelly.
In her previous life, Javier had wanted to expand his influence into the Nam Citadel. To interfere with the lucrative development there, he'd had to confront the local kingpin. But no matter how ruthless Javier was, he hadn't expected to nearly be shot in the head by Derrick.
People in Nam City didn't fear Derrick because of his intellect; they feared him because he dominated both the business world and the underworld with cold, efficient brutality. Javier hadn't realized the danger of provoking such a madman, and back then, Amanda had nearly been left for dead right alongside him.
Noticing how pale she was, Quentin guided her to a nearby chair. Preoccupied by her health, he missed the flash of insecurity in her eyes. He rubbed her cheek softly. "Are you tired? I can take you home if you're not feeling well."
Reassured by his touch, Amanda began to regain her composure. She reached for his hand to answer, but before she could speak, Derrick was upon them.
Derrick wore a black suit with three buttons undone, looking deceptively free-spirited. However, his cold, narrow eyes destroyed any sense of casualness, leaving only an oppressive, heavy atmosphere.
"I just arrived, and you're already trying to run away?" Derrick asked.
Quentin turned toward him, showing no surprise. Instead, he offered a faint smile. "I'm worried about my wife. How could you understand, since you don't have one?"
Derrick narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze to Amanda. The moment their eyes met, she ducked her head, remaining silent.
Derrick raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely intrigued. He turned back to Quentin. "I didn't realize this was your type."
Quentin tightened his grip on Amanda's shoulder, his brow furrowing slightly. "Don't scare her," he said calmly.
Derrick shrugged to show he meant no harm. "Let's find somewhere else to talk. I don't have time to play games."
Having finished the pleasantries, Derrick signaled toward a private area. Quentin knew this wasn't the place for business, but he looked down at the girl in his arms, who was currently trying to hide like an ostrich.
"Mandy, wait for me here. Once I've settled things with Mr. Kent, I'll take you home." He wasn't excluding her to be mean; he could simply tell she was uncomfortable around Derrick.
Amanda nodded obediently. "Yes, I'll wait here."
Derrick watched them for a moment before turning to Jasper, who was still standing nearby with a frosty expression. "Casper, you stay here too. Since you two know each other, it'll be easier to pass the time."
Jasper bristled at the use of his nickname but didn't argue. He had been dragged to this boring party by Derrick under the guise of "networking," but in reality, it was a warning to the industry that the Second Young Master of the Kent family had arrived. After tonight, Jasper knew resources would flood his way—not because of his talent, but because of the Kent name.
Quentin finally noticed Jasper. He frowned momentarily, then relaxed. As Quentin and Derrick walked away, Amanda looked up and glared fiercely at Jasper.
"So, you're the Second Young Master of the Kent family?"
Jasper glanced at her lazily. "Does the Kent family have a third child I'm unaware of?" The sarcasm was biting: if he wasn't the second, who else would he be?
Usually, Amanda would have snapped back, but instead, she slumped against the back of her chair. "I'm dead. I am so dead."
She really was. Derrick was notoriously cold-blooded, caring only for his younger brother. And yet, in her past life, Amanda had spent years bossing that same brother around—punching him, kicking him, and treating him like a footstool.
Jasper ignored her mumbles and crossed his arms, closing his eyes to meditate.
Meanwhile, in a private room, Derrick swirled a glass of wine, his eyes fixed on Quentin, who was calmly drinking tea.
"Your little wife seems terrified of me," Derrick noted. "Usually, women are falling over themselves to please me."
Quentin looked at him coldly. "You're looking at the wrong target."
Recognizing the warning in Quentin's tone, Derrick simply smiled and moved to the main topic. "I agree to the partnership for the Western Land project. But I want a 50/50 split."
Quentin stared at the tea leaves swirling in his cup. After a moment of thought, he countered: "60/40."
He wanted to build a high-end villa project in North City, and there was no designer better than Derrick. This project was vital; he had been planning it for two years, and the land he'd recently auctioned was his greatest leverage.
Seeing that Quentin wouldn't budge, Derrick chuckled and took a sip of wine. "60/40 then. It's really impossible to get the upper hand with you."
Derrick wanted a foothold in North City. Quentin's offer was actually very fair; the 50/50 request had just been a test.
Quentin's lips curled into a faint smile. "You flatter me."