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CHAPTER HUNDRED AND NINETY-ONE

RICHARD’S POV

The moment I pulled up to my mother’s house, I saw them—reporters. They swarmed the entrance like vultures, cameras flashing, microphones shoved forward, desperate to catch a piece of my misery. I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. The last thing I needed right now was to face a barrage of questions, but there was no way around it.

“Mr. Richard! Any comments on your father’s passing?” one shouted as soon as I stepped out of the car.

“Mr. Richard, what’s next for the family business?” another called out.

“Can you give us a statement?”

I pushed through them, barely acknowledging their existence. I wasn’t in the mood to entertain their relentless probing. They didn’t care about me, about my father—they just wanted a headline. I felt a headache starting to pound behind my eyes as I finally reached the door, slamming it shut behind me.

Inside, the house was quieter, but only slightly. I immediately noticed Amelia standing near the window, her face soft wit
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