Chapter 900
Everyone waited on edge, staring at Sharon. No one had expected Jamie to be this unhinged.
With a gun leveled at her, Sharon’s face had gone a little pale, but she remained composed, not a hint of outright terror in her expression. She answered evenly, “No.”
Jamie narrowed his eyes. “Sharon, I told you. I hate lies.”
“I hate having a gun pointed at me,” Sharon shot back.
Jamie’s gaze chilled to ice. “Then stop lying.”
Sharon’s voice stayed calm. “I already said no. You must be hard of hearing. Didn’t you hear me? Or…”
She slowly lifted her chin to meet the murderous glint in his eyes. “Is my answer not the one you want to hear? If so, tell me what answer you want, and I’ll give it to you. Or, you could just shoot me.”
At that, Carter, Richard, and Rick’s faces paled, and they cried out in unison, “Sharon!”
Jamie was dangerous by nature; Sharon had deliberately provoked him. Did she not realize she was toying with her life?
Jamie’s pupils contracted; a frost-black light blinked in his eyes.
How dare she taunt him?
“Don’t think I won’t pull the trigger,” he said coldly.
Sharon smiled faintly, looking unafraid. “Then do it.”
Jamie’s hand tightened; the cold flash in his eyes deepened. He slowly began to squeeze the trigger-the crisp click of the mechanism sounded.
“Jamie, that’s enough! This is our home, not your playground!” Richard roared.
Jamie seemed not to hear; the muzzle stayed fixed on Sharon. “If you want to die so badly, I’ll grant you your wish.”
He prepared to fire.
Carter’s expression hardened; he moved to intervene. At that instant, a frail, strained voice drifted from the stairwell.
“Jamie… stop.”
Jamie flinched and looked toward the voice. In that fraction of a second, Carter seized the
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chance and wrenched the gun from his hand.
Jamie did not pursue the weapon; instead, his attention snapped to the newcomer-Victoria- who had appeared as if called by fate.
“Victoria, why are you out of your room? Shouldn’t you be resting?” he asked, striding over and planting his suit jacket over her shoulders. “You’re barely dressed; you’ll catch a cold.”
Victoria had been coaxed out by a housekeeper, who had seen Jamie pointing the gun at Sharon. Richard had signaled the housekeeper to bring Victoria down.
Jamie, the Walton family’s notorious bloodhound, spared no one-except for Victoria. Only she could tame him.
“Jamie.” Victoria’s exquisite face was taut with worry. “What are you doing? Do you intend to kill someone in my house?”
“Of course not,” Jamie answered with a faint smile. “I was merely joking with Sharon.”
Carter cut in coldly, “A joke like that?”
Jamie’s murderous expression faded, replaced by a wearied look. “It really was a joke. That gun is a replica.”
Carter frowned and examined the weapon in his hand. Its weight and construction matched a real firearm almost exactly. But indeed, it was not loaded; there were no bullets.
Jamie turned to Carter. “See? I told you. Just a fake.” (1
He spread his hands and said honestly, “I only wanted to scare Sharon a little.” 1
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