Chapter 59 Who Is the Mistress?
Sloane's POV
She was already unstable standing on one leg, and my push sent her screaming backward, falling to the ground in a humiliating heap.
"How dare you dodge!" Caught off guard, she struggled up cursing viciously. "Who the hell do you think you are? You're nothing but a homewrecker! A bitch trying to climb the social ladder! Jared is mine, and I'll be the future lady of the Montclair family!"
Homewrecker? Bitch?
I looked down at her, at her furious face, and the frozen lake in my heart didn't ripple at all. I even pulled my lips into a cold smile.
"Keira," I slowly crouched down, meeting her fiery eyes at eye level, my voice light as a feather yet cutting to the bone, "Even without me, Jared would never marry you. Why do you think he showed up at that restaurant tonight? Because he knew I was there. Why do you think he didn't hesitate to leave you behind? Because in his eyes, you're not worth a single strand of my hair."
I mimicked her earlier tone, striking back deliberately. "You call me a homewrecker, but don't forget—I'm still Jared's legal wife, and you? You're just a desperate third party throwing yourself at him without even a title. What right do you have to yell at me?"
My words clearly shredded her last pretense. The color drained from her face, her lips trembling, unable to utter a single word.
In those beautiful eyes, crazy hatred and humiliation intertwined, finally burning away her last shred of sanity.
She suddenly pulled something from her bag.
It was a delicate little handgun.
In the night, it gleamed with a cold, deadly light.
"Go to hell!" she shrieked, the dark barrel aimed straight at my forehead.
In that instant, time seemed to freeze.
Looking at that gun, what flashed through my mind wasn't fear, but the handwriting in Grayson's notebook.
[Those who hurt Sloane all deserve to die.]
Turns out, he wasn't the only crazy one.
Just as Keira's finger was about to pull the trigger, a tall figure rushed out from behind me like a wall, shielding me completely.
"Put the gun down!" Jared's voice was ice-cold, filled with undisguised rage and killing intent.
He stood in front of me, his broad back giving me an absurd sense of security.
The moment Keira saw Jared, the madness and viciousness on her face instantly faded, replaced by tearful vulnerability and grievance. Her hand holding the gun trembled slightly, tears rolling down her cheeks, "Jared... I... I didn't mean to, it was her, she humiliated me first... I was just scared for a moment..."
The speed of her transformation was staggering.
"Scared?" Jared laughed coldly. He stared at Keira, his gaze like he was looking at a clown, "Scared enough to point a gun at her head?"
He exposed her pretense, his tone full of disgust and impatience.
"I didn't! She forced me to! It's her fault!" Keira kept arguing, crying pitifully, "She's jealous of me, she even had someone break my leg, I was just trying to protect myself..."
Jared suddenly stepped forward and snatched the gun from Keira's hand, moving so fast she couldn't react.
He ejected the bullets from the gun, threw them on the ground, then tossed the empty gun back into Keira's lap.
"Keira Winslow," he said each word deliberately, his voice carrying unprecedented warning and finality, "I'm saying this one last time—stay away from her. If I see you near her again, it won't end this simply."
Keira was completely stunned. She'd probably never seen Jared so merciless. She covered her face, crying in disbelief. "You're treating me like this for her? Jared, she had someone break my leg! Why won't you believe me!"
"Believe you?" I finally stepped out from behind him, looking at her coldly, "Where's your proof? Keira, making accusations without evidence—I could sue you for slander."
Jared also turned his head, his icy gaze sweeping over Keira, "The night you got hurt, Sloane was with me the whole time."
She looked at us, then at the cold bullets on the ground, and finally broke down sobbing like a child who'd had all her candy stolen.
Just then, a black Bentley slowly pulled up by the roadside.
The car door opened, and an elderly gentleman in a gray cashmere coat, his hair impeccably groomed, stepped out.
He walked steadily with an elegant bearing. Seeing the chaotic scene before him, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
"Keira, what's going on?" His voice was warm and mellow, carrying an elder's concern.
Seeing him, Keira looked like she'd found her savior. She crawled over and clutched his legs, sobbing breathlessly, "Uncle Arthur, they're bullying me! Jared wants to kill me for that woman!"
The elderly gentleman she called Arthur patted her back soothingly, then raised his head. Those deep, sharp eyes passed over Jared and landed on me.
Arthur.
I knew that name—he was a close friend of my and Keira's fathers and held a significant position in the Winslow family business.
His refined face showed no warmth as his shrewd eyes swept past Jared and fixed on me with cold scrutiny.
That gaze made me extremely uncomfortable, as if I wasn't a person but an object being appraised.
"Uncle Arthur, you have to stand up for me!" Keira cried harder, pointing at me, her voice full of venom, "It's this woman—she humiliated me and had someone break my leg. Now Jared's so bewitched by her he won't even care about me!"
The old gentleman's frown deepened. He didn't look at Keira; his gaze remained fixed on me, growing increasingly strange, as if he were seeing through me to some person from the past he deeply despised.
Jared's tall frame stood motionless in front of me, blocking out that uncomfortable gaze.
"Uncle Arthur," his voice was cold and hard, carrying a distance beneath the courtesy, "It's not what Keira said. She pointed a gun at Sloane first. I only did what any husband would do."
Husband.
That word from his mouth landed with weight, carrying an unquestionable protectiveness.