Chapter 205 — Monica Secretly Tries to Pull Ian Into the Army
"So that's what this is about… you could've just told me directly."
William smiled, lightly pinching Amanda's cheek.
Seeing he didn't resist, Amanda visibly relaxed, her face lighting up as she wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
—
The car soon arrived in an upscale suburban neighborhood.
Rows of standalone luxury villas stretched out—each with sprawling gardens, private pools, and architecture designed by well-known names.
Amanda's home was one of them.
William's own background wasn't poor—but this was clearly another level.
Still, he remained calm.
After all, compared to what he'd seen before, even this didn't impress him much anymore.
—
At the garage entrance, Amanda's parents were already waiting.
As soon as they stepped out of the car, Amanda's father walked forward and extended his hand.
"Mr. and Mrs. Crowley," William greeted politely.
"Hello, young man."
From the very first glance, they were satisfied.
William's appearance, his demeanor, his composure—
All of it exceeded expectations.
Compared to Amanda's previous boyfriends…
This was on an entirely different level.
In the past, Amanda's rebellious streak had led her to deliberately date men from rough backgrounds—just to provoke her parents.
They had come prepared for more of the same.
Instead—
They got William.
Despite his student-like appearance, there was a faint, almost imperceptible aura about him—
A kind of quiet superiority.
The kind you only saw in people used to power.
Amanda's father noticed it immediately.
And it made him reassess everything.
—
Meanwhile, at South Side High School—
Ian leaned against a pillar near the entrance.
Beside him, Mandy Milkovich was chatting casually.
"So… you've been away from the Milkovich house for a while now. How does it feel? Ever miss it?"
Ian sounded casual.
But his real intention was obvious—
He was fishing for information about Mickey Milkovich.
Mandy shot him a look and rolled her eyes.
"Miss it? Hell no. I'm doing great right now. If I had a choice, I'd never go back to that dump."
Her disgust for the Milkovich household was completely undisguised.
Ian inhaled sharply—
"Hey… hey…"
While the two were talking, a faint hissing sound suddenly came from somewhere nearby.
Ian turned his head, scanning the surroundings.
It didn't take long before he spotted someone hiding in a corner—
Monica.
"Mom?" he called out, confused.
Monica waved at him, beckoning him over.
Ian hesitated for a moment, then said goodbye to Mandy Milkovich and walked toward her.
Mandy didn't linger or pry. She simply turned and headed back into school.
Truthfully, she hadn't even wanted to come today. But William had practically forced her—going so far as to say he'd already made plans to send her to college.
She had protested hard, saying it was a waste of money.
William's response?
He had plenty of money.
That alone had shaken her.
Even the others around her—especially the so-called "Russian sister" group—thought she should take the chance if she could. Whether it was law or accounting, it would eventually help William's business.
Under that kind of pressure, Mandy—despite not being the most academically inclined—started taking her studies seriously for the first time.
Money could open doors.
But it couldn't put knowledge into her head.
If she wanted to stand beside William, she had to earn it.
—
Meanwhile, Ian stopped in front of Monica.
One look at her disheveled, half-lucid state told him everything—
She'd been using again.
And her mental state wasn't stable.
"What do you want, Mom?" Ian asked.
"My boy…" Monica didn't answer right away. She reached out and gently touched his face.
Ian frowned, grabbing her wrist and pulling it away.
"What is it?"
"I heard you want to join the army. How's that going?" she asked.
The moment she said that, Ian's expression darkened.
He had almost managed to forget.
But now it all came rushing back.
No matter how hard he studied, reality didn't change—
A 4.2 GPA?
Impossible for him.
"Not great. Anything else? If not, I'm going back to class."
His tone was sharp, irritation barely concealed.
Between his issues with Mickey Milkovich and his failure to get into West Point, he was already at his limit.
Monica, however, smiled brightly.
"Oh, my baby. Don't be discouraged. I can get you into the army."
Ian froze.
"Really? How?"
He didn't fully believe her—but hope still flickered.
After all, the image in his mind—
Strong, shirtless soldiers, bodies honed by discipline—
That world held a powerful pull for him.
He was still young.
He hadn't yet realized that Mickey might be the one thing he truly couldn't replace.
"Come on. Follow me!"
Monica didn't explain.
She simply grabbed his arm and dragged him along.
—
Ten minutes later, they stopped in front of a building.
U.S. Army Recruiting Office.
They pushed the door open and walked inside.
The room smelled faintly of cheap coffee and old paperwork.
Ian stood awkwardly in a corner beneath a poster that read:
"Fight today for your country's future!"
His eyes were filled with both longing and unease.
Beside him, Monica was already talking—no, rambling—to a young recruiter in a neatly pressed uniform.
"Listen, kid," she said, slamming a poorly filled-out form onto the desk.
"My son is born for this! He's the future of America! He's got Gallagher blood in him! Get him processed, get him enlisted—he's ready for the battlefield!"
The recruiter, a young man who looked barely out of college, adjusted his glasses politely.
"Ma'am… please calm down. We appreciate your son's enthusiasm, but…"
He paused, flipping to the bottom of the form and pointing at Ian's education level.
"He's only in tenth grade. My recommendation is that he finish high school first, then come back to enlist."
Ian's face went pale.
His lips parted, but no words came out.
"Just sign him up!" Monica snapped.
"High school diploma? What kind of stupid rule is that? Since when do you need a diploma to go to war and kill people?!"
Her laughter burst out—sharp and jarring, like a balloon popping.
Her eyes reddened.
In an instant, her expression twisted—
From excited warmth…
To volatile rage.
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