Chapter218 Turning the Tables
Harrison was sprawled across the leather sofa, face flushed, breathing ragged.
His tailored suit was half torn open, collar yanked loose, chest heaving with an unnatural heat.
"Hot... so hot..." he mumbled, barely coherent. He seemed to register that someone had entered the room. He started pushing himself up off the sofa.
Miranda didn't wait to see what happened next. She spun around and grabbed the door handle.
Click.
It didn't move.
Harrison was already on his feet. Miranda's mind snapped into focus. No time to think. Her right hand dove into her silver clutch and closed around a bank card.
She worked the edge of the card into the gap between the door and the frame, lined it up against the latch, and pushed down hard.
A soft pop. The lock gave.
She yanked the door open, slipped out, and pulled it shut behind her.
The hallway was bright and cool. Miranda pressed her back against the wall and caught her breath, chest still heaving.
She wasn't heartless. She knew Harrison hadn't chosen this.
But if she had stayed in that room, she would have been swallowed up by the same trap. Taking care of herself first wasn't cruelty. It was survival.
Miranda did a quick sweep of the corridor, then slipped into an empty lounge across the hall and locked the door from the inside.
Safe.
She pulled out her phone and called the police without hesitation, gave them the location and a brief rundown of the situation, then hung up.
She sank onto the sofa and let the tension slowly drain from her shoulders.
Going back downstairs now would only walk her straight into whatever else Isabella had planned. Better to wait.
Besides, Clifton wouldn't be far behind.
She exhaled quietly. Her thoughts began to settle.
She had known coming into tonight that Isabella and Arthur had no love for her. She hadn't expected the evening to go smoothly.
So before they had even arrived, she and Clifton had made a pact. Whatever happened tonight, neither of them would accept a message passed through a third party.
The moment that server showed up claiming Clifton had drunk too much, every alarm bell in her head went off at once.
She had followed along anyway, for one reason. Clifton was sharp. He never let his guard down, and he certainly didn't let strangers walk off with his belongings. If there was even a small chance he was actually unwell and had managed to get word to her, she needed to see it for herself.
But the moment she turned to follow the server, her right hand had moved quietly beneath the cover of her gown. Three small taps against the clasp of the diamond bracelet on her wrist.
It was something Castillo had rigged up for them. The two bracelets were paired. Tap one, and the other would light up. Simple, and untraceable.
A silent signal. Her way of telling Clifton to come find her, just in case this turned out to be exactly what it was.
And it had.
Miranda glanced down at the two phones in her hand. Her own, and Clifton's, which she had taken from the server.
The corner of her mouth curved into a cold smile.
Whoever was behind this had gone to a lot of trouble.
Downstairs in the ballroom, Thalia was losing ground fast. The crowd around Isabella had grown, and they were already moving toward the staircase.
More than a dozen people, the sons and daughters of some of the most prominent families in their circle, swept up the stairs in Isabella's wake.
Isabella could practically taste it. Miranda, caught in the act, humiliated in front of everyone who mattered. Her reputation shredded beyond repair. She walked a little faster, her heels clicking against the floor with gleeful purpose.
The group reached the corridor and closed in on the door.
One of the girls, a sharp-eyed brunette with a short bob, suddenly stopped and tilted her head.
"Wait. Do you hear that?" She wrinkled her nose. "There's someone in that room. I can hear breathing. Heavy breathing. Is someone in trouble?"
The whole group went still and listened.
From behind the door came the unmistakable sound of a man, labored and ragged, like someone fighting through pain.
Thalia's stomach lurched. She stepped forward immediately.
"It's probably just a guest who had too much to drink. There are a lot of people in there. We really shouldn't disturb them."
Isabella let out a short, contemptuous laugh. She didn't even glance at Thalia.
"This is the Martinez estate. If a guest is in distress under our roof, it's our responsibility to check on them." She made it sound like civic duty. "I'm just making sure everyone is safe."
Nobody could argue with that. Not out loud.
She was already at the door, room card in hand. She pressed it to the sensor.
A soft beep. The door swung open.
The smile on Isabella's face never got the chance to fully form.
The scene she had been waiting for, Miranda tangled up with her ex-husband, wasn't there.
Instead, before Isabella could even process what was happening, a burning, disoriented figure lunged out from behind the door and crashed straight into her, locking her in a grip she couldn't break.
Harrison had lost all sense of reason. He was running on pure instinct, reaching blindly for any source of relief.
His mouth found her neck.
"Get off me! GET OFF ME!"
Isabella screamed and thrashed, but the gap in strength was humiliating. She was nothing against him.
"Isabella!"
Arthur's vision went red the instant he saw his sister being grabbed. He shoved through the crowd, drew back his fist, and drove it straight into Harrison's face.
The impact cracked through the corridor. Harrison's head snapped to the side and he went down hard, crumpling to the floor.
The hallway erupted.
Then, from the lounge directly across the hall, came the quiet sound of a door unlocking from the inside.
Miranda stepped out, looking faintly puzzled, as if the noise had just woken her from a rest. She took in the scene in the corridor with wide, unhurried eyes.
"What's going on?"
Her voice cut straight through the chaos.
Every head turned.
Isabella had barely stopped shaking when she registered who was standing in that doorway. The woman who was supposed to be ruined. Who was supposed to be caught, exposed, destroyed.
Instead, Miranda stood there completely composed. Hair neat, dress perfect, not a single thing out of place.
Isabella stared. Her face crumpled through shock, confusion, and pure disbelief before twisting into something ugly.
She stabbed a finger in Miranda's direction.
"Miranda? What are you doing in that room? You were supposed to be with Harrison, you should have been"