
Upon hearing Sidley's explanation, Steve's face darkened. Sidley quickly added, "Okay, I admit, I was trying to call you a driver, but I accidentally dialed the wrong number."
Steve didn't believe a word Sidley said, but he was too tired to argue and just turned to leave, with Amia following closely behind.
As Amia was about to exit, Sidley suddenly shouted, "Miss Amia, if you're looking for a boyfriend, I'm your best option!"
Hearing this, Amia felt her scalp tingle with discomfort. Sidley seemed completely oblivious to Steve's anger.
Once outside, Amia efficiently helped Steve into the back seat and then slid into the driver's seat herself.
"Mr. President, which villa would you like to go to?" Amia asked, knowing Steve had several properties.
"Take me to the Cronier Villa," Steve replied offhandedly.
The Cronier Villa was an ultra-luxurious estate, with each house selling for at least


After Steve's command, Amia had no choice but to sit to the side, not wanting to get involved in his personal matters. 
Clotho, the doctor, voiced her concern, “You know you can't drink alcohol with your condition, yet you still do it. Are you trying to kill yourself?”
Steve sighed, “Just had some things on my mind, and I wanted a few drinks to take the edge off.”
Clotho was curious, “What’s bothering you? Maybe I can help.”
Amia was also intrigued, wondering what was troubling Steve. She recalled the last time Steve was in a bad mood; it was after meeting with his wife. Now, he was upset again after seeing her. Could it be that they were having marital problems?
As Steve’s assistant, Amia knew she had to be aware of his personality traits and weaknesses, yet she had never known he was allergic to alcohol. Upon reflection, it made sense; a person’s weaknesses aren't usually shared with 


"Grandma, what exactly are you trying to say?" Steve asked, clearly puzzled.
"What I mean is, don't be the one to bring up divorce. Let her bring it up herself. That way, you both can part on good terms," his grandmother suggested.
"Part on good terms?" Steve almost laughed at the idea. "Grandma, to be honest, if it weren't for you, I would have kicked those two adulterers out of San Diego by now."
"And now you’re asking me to leave on good terms? Do you want me to remember her fondly as the woman who enjoyed a romantic bath with another man?"
His grandmother shook her head. "It's my fault, Steve. I met Amia a few times and thought she was a good girl, someone worthy of you. That’s why I arranged the marriage. I see now that it was a mistake."
His grandmother had once been a formidable figure in the business world, with great power and influence. Yet here she was, apologizing for choosing Amia.
Steve cared deeply for his grandmother, but he was still furious with Amia. "Grandma, in this world, I don't allow anyone to betray me."
Steve had never met a woman who truly captured his heart. Since his grandmother had wanted him to marry, he had agreed, thinking it didn't really matter who the woman was. From the moment he got married, Steve was committed to spending his life with his wife and had no intention of being unfaithful.
But Amia had repeatedly betrayed him. He had brought gifts to her home, only to find her living with another man.
His grandmother knew her grandson’s personality well. She wanted to protect Amia from being hurt. "Steve, listen to me. I assured Amia’s family that you would take care of her, which is why they agreed to the marriage."
"I don't want to lose face, Steve. Do me this one favor, and I won’t interfere with your choice of a wife in the future."
Steve, being a filial grandson, nodded reluctantly. "Alright, Grandma. I’ll do this for you."
His grandmother sighed in relief at his words.
But then Steve made a phone call. "Attorney Smith, draft a divorce agreement for me."
His grandmother, now alarmed, said, "Steve, what are you doing?"
Steve responded coldly, "Grandma, take care of yourself. I’m going home."
After Steve left, his grandmother sighed deeply. She had hoped for her grandson to have a stable, fulfilling marriage and to find a woman who truly cared for him. But now she realized she had overlooked his feelings.
Late that night, Amia was having a pleasant dream when her phone suddenly rang, jolting her awake.
Seeing that it was Steve calling, she quickly answered, "Mr. President?"
But the voice on the other end was another man’s. "This is Sidley. Steve is drunk at the Victor Bar. You need to come pick him up."
After hanging up, Amia remembered that Sidley was one of Steve’s childhood friends.
She didn’t understand why Steve would be drinking alone. Shouldn’t he be with his wife?
As his assistant, it was Amia’s responsibility to go and get Steve. She hurriedly got dressed and took a cab to the Victor Bar.
The Victor Bar was an exclusive, high-end bar, not a place an ordinary person could easily enter.
Since Sidley had already arranged everything with the staff, Amia was led to a private room as soon as she arrived.
Inside, she saw several men and women lounging on the sofas, drinking wine. Steve was sitting alone in the corner, holding a cigar.
"So, you’re Steve’s assistant? You’re pretty attractive," Sidley remarked.
Amia had heard of Sidley from the papers. He came from a wealthy family and was known as a playboy, often seen with celebrities in bars. Despite his suggestive gaze, Amia maintained her professionalism.
"Mr. Sidley, I’m here to take Mr. President home," she said firmly.
Sidley smirked. "Amia, I suppose you don’t have a boyfriend yet, do you?"
Amia didn’t appreciate personal questions like this. "I’m sorry, Mr. Sidley, but that’s private."
Sidley laughed heartily. "If you don’t have a boyfriend, I wouldn’t mind filling the role."
"Sorry, Mr. Sidley, I’m not interested," Amia replied curtly. She had no intention of engaging with someone like Sidley. If it weren’t for Steve, she would have left already.
But Sidley persisted, pressing her. "Amia, do you like Steve or something?"
Amia glanced at Steve, worried that he might take offense. But Steve seemed preoccupied, smoking his cigar and ignoring her.
"Mr. Sidley, I think you should show me some respect," Amia said, growing angry. Without his family’s wealth, Sidley would be no better than a homeless man under a bridge.
"Well, well, an assistant with quite the attitude," a man named Tony, a fellow second-generation wealthy, chimed in. Like Steve, he held a certain position in the business world, and the three of them had been close friends since childhood.
"Of course, she has an attitude. She works for me. Do you have a problem with that?" Steve stood up, tossing his cigar to the ground, making the atmosphere tense.
"No, no problem at all," Sidley said quickly. But Tony was visibly upset, especially towards Amia, glaring at her with hostility.
Seeing Tony’s resentment, Amia was confused. She had just met him—why was he so hostile?
She didn’t care about them anymore. Turning to Steve, she asked, "Mr. President, are you ready to go?"
Steve coldly replied, "Who told you to come here?"
"Mr. Sidley asked me to come," Amia answered.
Sidley laughed. "Steve, we’re out to have a good time tonight. Why not enjoy the night with a woman or two? It’s no big deal."

Upon hearing Sidley's explanation, Steve's face darkened. Sidley quickly added, "Okay, I admit, I was trying to call you a driver, but I accidentally dialed the wrong number."
Steve didn't believe a word Sidley said, but he was too tired to argue and just turned to leave, with Amia following closely behind.
As Amia was about to exit, Sidley suddenly shouted, "Miss Amia, if you're looking for a boyfriend, I'm your best option!"
Hearing this, Amia felt her scalp tingle with discomfort. Sidley seemed completely oblivious to Steve's anger.
Once outside, Amia efficiently helped Steve into the back seat and then slid into the driver's seat herself.
"Mr. President, which villa would you like to go to?" Amia asked, knowing Steve had several properties.
"Take me to the Cronier Villa," Steve replied offhandedly.
The Cronier Villa was an ultra-luxurious estate, with each house selling for at least fifty or sixty million due to the excellent surrounding environment, sparse population, and f

Chapter 9: Not Even a Thank You