Chapter225 Pretty Face, Dirty Secrets
It was the middle of rush hour.
The sidewalk outside the building was packed with people heading home after work.
The sharp crack of the slap and Dominic's furious shouting turned every head within earshot. People stopped walking. Stared. Some with curiosity, some with judgment, all of it aimed straight at Miranda.
Miranda stood there for a moment, ears still ringing, cheek burning where his hand had connected.
She slowly raised her head and looked at the man in front of her. Her father, by blood.
Whatever warmth might have existed in her eyes was gone. What replaced it was ice, clean and absolute.
The whispers were already starting around her.
"Isn't that the chairman of Lancaster Group? Is that his daughter?"
"Did he just call her a tramp? Look at her. She seems so put together. Hard to believe."
"You never really know what goes on behind closed doors with these wealthy families. All shine on the outside."
Dominic saw the look on her face. Not fear. Not shame. Something almost like contempt.
It made him angrier.
He raised his hand again, ready to deliver a second blow to the other side of her face.
"Don't you dare look at me like that!"
Miranda's arm shot up to block him.
But someone else moved faster.
A slender figure in a beige trench coat came rushing in from the side.
"Stop it!"
The voice was sharp and urgent.
The next second, a well-manicured hand seized Dominic's wrist mid-swing and held it there.
Arabella had been traveling with Castillo's mother for a while, and then got stranded on an island when a typhoon delayed every flight out. She had only just landed today.
Driving in from the airport, she had checked the time and figured she could swing by the office to surprise Miranda and take her to dinner.
She had turned the corner just in time to watch her husband strike their daughter across the face in the middle of a public street.
She had heard the words he was shouting before she even reached them.
Something inside her went very cold.
Arabella shoved Dominic's arm down and got between him and Miranda. One look at the red handprint already rising on her daughter's cheek, and every bit of restraint she had dissolved.
She turned and slapped Dominic across the face with everything she had.
The sound rang out louder than his had.
Dominic reeled, hand flying to his cheek, staring at his wife like he didn't recognize her.
Arabella wasn't finished.
She faced him head-on, chest heaving, voice shaking not with weakness but with fury.
"Dominic. You hit my daughter. So take that and consider it returned."
Dominic's own temper flared right back. Being hit by his wife in front of a crowd of onlookers was not something he was going to absorb quietly.
"Do you even know what she did?" he snapped. "There are photos, Arabella. Someone delivered them straight to my office. She's been sneaking around with some man behind everyone's backs, and you want to stand there and defend her?"
Miranda ran her tongue lightly along the inside of her sore cheek.
She let out a short, quiet laugh. Not loud, not dramatic. Just enough.
She looked directly at Dominic.
"You got a few anonymous photos from a stranger and took them as fact," she said, her voice steady. "You didn't ask me a single question. You just showed up and put your hands on me in public."
She paused.
"Are you actually my father?"
The crowd had been leaning toward judgment a moment ago. Now the current shifted.
She had a point.
If a father sees something troubling about his daughter, isn't the first instinct to ask her about it? To find out if she was set up, lied about, framed? Not to drive to her workplace and assault her on the pavement in front of dozens of witnesses.
The looks being directed at Dominic changed. The pity and gossip that had been aimed at Miranda quietly turned around.
Dominic felt it. He pushed past the flash of guilt with more anger, jammed his hand into his pocket, and yanked out the photographs. He threw them down at her feet.
"The photos are real. That's you. So explain that."
The pictures scattered across the ground. People nearby could see them clearly. Miranda, close to a man sitting in a wheelchair.
Miranda glanced down once, then looked back up.
"I told you a long time ago that I was married," she said calmly. "Those are photos of me with my husband. Do I need to file a report with you every time we're in the same room?"
Dominic opened his mouth.
Miranda kept going before he could get a word out.
"Yes, my husband uses a wheelchair. So what?"
"He was injured saving someone else's life. He's not broken. He's the most decent person I know. And I will not be divorcing him so you can trade me off to whoever benefits Lancaster Group the most."
She knew Dominic had no idea who her husband actually was. Which meant she could say whatever she liked about him.
Miranda held Dominic's gaze, and the corner of her mouth curved slightly.
"You hate him that much just because he's in a wheelchair?"
She let the implication settle.
She was certain he wouldn't say yes. Not here. Not with this many people watching and phones already out. "Lancaster Group Chairman Discriminates Against Disabled Man" would trend before morning, and the stock price would do the rest.
Dominic's mouth stayed open and produced nothing.
He stood there, jaw tight, staring at her, every emotion cycling through his face before landing on something that looked a lot like frustrated defeat.
In a quiet corner of the crowd, a man in a black cap lowered his phone and sent the full recording directly to Mrs. Martinez.
Mrs. Martinez watched Miranda take the slap with some satisfaction.
Then she watched the rest of the clip.
By the time it ended, she had nearly crushed the stem of her wine glass.
Miranda's mouth. Always Miranda's insufferable mouth.
Her eyes narrowed.
Spreading rumors about Miranda's personal life was clearly not going to be enough.
Time to move to the next phase.
--
Forty minutes later, two cars pulled through the gates of the Lancaster estate.
Arabella and Miranda walked into the living room together.
Miranda had barely stepped out of her shoes when she heard footsteps on the staircase.
Evelyn appeared at the top of the stairs and came down with a bright smile, like she had been waiting for them.
"Arabella! You're back! And Miranda too!"
She crossed the room and reached for Arabella's free arm.
Arabella hadn't expected to see her sister. They had barely spoken in months. Her messages had gone unanswered for so long she had stopped sending them.
She started to speak, then her eyes dropped to what Evelyn was wearing.
A champagne silk nightgown. Delicate embroidery at the collar and cuffs. Pale gold, with small orchids stitched along the hem.
It was Arabella's favorite piece.