Chapter231 Clifton's Wife Cannot Be a Pushover
The words landed on Celeste like a physical weight. All the color left her face.
Her mouth opened. The reflex to argue kicked in before she could stop it.
"Grandfather, I didn't"
"Didn't what?"
Prescott's voice cut her off like a blade.
"I heard everything. You stood in front of guests and called your own sister-in-law that word. More than once. Where exactly did your upbringing go, Celeste?"
Celeste snapped her mouth shut. She bit down hard on her lower lip, eyes burning, hands trembling at her sides.
The room went dead quiet.
Then Miranda's voice broke through, soft but steady.
"Grandfather." She kept her tone gentle. "Please don't let this upset you. Celeste is still young. And besides..." She let her gaze drift briefly toward Celeste. "She didn't actually hit me. No real harm done."
It was a graceful out. She was handing Prescott a way to step back from the edge without losing face.
But Miranda had not gotten where she was by absorbing hits without returning them.
And Clifton's wife could not afford to be soft.
If she wanted to hold her ground in this house, she needed people to know exactly where that ground was.
She looked at Celeste, and her smile stayed warm as she delivered the blow.
"That said, Celeste did lose her temper today. I think it would do her good to copy out the Prescott family rules. Twice through. Give her some time to calm down and reflect. What do you think, Grandfather?"
The punishment was not severe.
It was humiliating.
It was also perfectly calculated. It showed restraint. It showed authority. And it told every person in that room that the lady of the Prescott household was not someone you put your hands on.
When she finished speaking, Miranda glanced across the room at the man who had stayed silent through all of it.
Clifton sat in his wheelchair, expression unreadable as always. But when her eyes met his, the hard line of his mouth shifted. Just barely. The faintest curve upward.
Quiet approval.
Miranda let out a small internal breath. She had played it right.
Celeste did not see it that way.
The idea that Miranda, of all people, was handing down a punishment to her made something in Celeste's head go white.
She hated writing. She had hated it since she was a child. And now this woman she had looked down on her entire life was standing there calmly telling her to sit in a room and copy lines like a scolded schoolgirl.
She lost it completely.
"No!" Celeste's voice came out as a shriek. She had forgotten entirely that Grandfather was in the room. "You just said yourself I didn't hit you! So what gives you the right to punish me? Miranda, who do you think you are?"
Prescott looked at his granddaughter.
For the first time, he felt something he hadn't expected to feel toward her.
Exhaustion.
He had always been harder on his grandsons. With Celeste, he had given her room. Let things slide. Spoiled her in ways he told himself were harmless.
He could see now what that had built.
Willful. Reckless. No sense of where the line was.
If this continued, it was only a matter of time before she did something that couldn't be walked back.
The warmth left his eyes completely.
"Four times."
He said it quietly. That made it final.
"You'll copy the family rules four times. You don't leave your room until every page is done."
He looked at the bodyguard behind him. "Take her upstairs. She doesn't come out without my permission."
"Yes, sir."
Two bodyguards stepped forward and took hold of Celeste by the arms.
"Let go of me! I'm not going!" She fought against them, but it was pointless. They were trained. She wasn't. She was dragged toward the staircase one step at a time, still yelling, her voice cracking into something closer to a sob.
Then she was gone.
The living room settled back into silence.
Prescott watched the top of the stairs for a moment, then exhaled slowly. He picked up his cup, took a sip, and turned to look at Miranda and Clifton.
His tone shifted without warning.
"I've reviewed both of your recent medical reports. You're both in good health."
Miranda blinked. She wasn't sure where this was going. She glanced at Clifton.
His expression hadn't moved. He had clearly seen this coming.
Prescott's sharp eyes swept between them.
"You're young. Don't waste it. I want a great-grandchild. One is a start. Two is better."
Miranda felt heat creep into her face.
Prescott was already looking straight at her, and there was no room in that gaze to deflect.
She kept her voice quiet and even. "Yes, Grandfather. I understand."
"Understanding isn't enough. Doing is what counts."
He held her gaze, then dropped the real weight of what he wanted to say.
"For every child you give me, I will personally give you one hundred million in cash and a villa on the bay. Both in your name alone."
He paused.
"That is separate from whatever I give the child. What I give you is yours. The Prescotts will never ask for it back."
He studied her. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
Miranda understood perfectly.
This wasn't a reward. It was a guarantee. He was making sure she had something that belonged only to her, something no one could take away, regardless of what happened later.
She had married into the Prescotts as a transaction. She had known that from the beginning. She had no standing to push back against what the old man arranged. And honestly, whether or not she had a child had never been entirely her decision to make.
She nodded. "I understand."
Prescott seemed to know she meant it. He turned to Clifton.
"The matter of an heir is not something that can wait. If you have not produced a child before you turn thirty..." He let the pause sit for a moment. "I will not hesitate to arrange a different wife for you."
The words were quiet. Almost offhand.
They hit Miranda like a stone dropped into still water.
A different wife.
She had known this was always the shape of things. She had understood it long before anyone said it out loud. But hearing it put so plainly, with so little ceremony, scraped at something she hadn't fully braced for.
She was replaceable. She had always been replaceable. A placeholder, useful until she either produced an heir or Clifton no longer needed her.
Once his legs healed, he would have every option open to him. Someone from the right family. Someone who brought him real advantage. Not her.
Prescott rose, hands clasped behind his back, and walked out without another word. He gave no acknowledgment to what he had just stirred up in the two people he left behind.
The living room felt very large and very still.
Miranda sat quietly, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. Her fingertips had gone cold.
The soft roll of wheels came from beside her.
Clifton moved his chair until he was next to her.
"What Grandfather said just now." His voice was low, and there was something careful in it. "Don't take it to heart."
He wanted a child with her. A child that was theirs. He had thought about it.
But not yet. Not while he was still in this chair.
He refused to let her carry a pregnancy while people looked at her with pity. While they whispered about the woman who had married a man who couldn't walk, and was now expected to give him children on top of it.
When the time came, he wanted to give her something she could hold her head up for. Something that couldn't be picked apart.
That time wasn't far off now.
The coldness in his face had eased, just slightly. Something softer had taken its place, quiet enough that no one would have caught it.
Miranda heard his words differently.
Her chest sank.
Don't take it to heart.
Of course. Because by the time any of this mattered, things would be different. His legs would be healed. He would be whole again. And a man like Clifton, fully restored, with everything he had and everything he was, why would he settle for her?
She had been put beside him because it was convenient. Because his grandfather needed someone there while Clifton was still recovering, and she had been available. That was the whole of it.
He would have better options. He would find someone worthy of the Prescott name in every way she was not.
Clifton did not notice the shift in her. He didn't see the brief, bitter flicker in her eyes before she looked away.
And he could not have known that the words he meant as comfort, words he had spoken while quietly planning the moment he would finally say what he actually felt, would push that moment further away than he ever intended.