Chapter128 Where Do You Want My Wife to Go?
Western district, hillside villa.
In the luxurious European-style living room, the air conditioning was on full blast.
Elara wore a silk robe, lounging lazily on an imported leather sofa, holding a tablet as she scrolled through online comments.
Watching Miranda being cursed by the entire internet, her well-maintained face was filled with triumphant smiles.
"Miranda dared to seduce my man. Now let's see how she shows her face in public!"
Elara laughed happily, casually scrolling past a comment calling Miranda "utter trash, the world would be better without her," giving it a like. "These netizens really have vicious mouths. But I like it."
Thomas sat nearby, holding a fruit platter, attentively spearing a piece of cut cantaloupe with a fork and carefully offering it to Elara's lips.
"Honey, don't get angry over a woman like that. It's not worth hurting yourself."
Elara shot him a sidelong glance but still opened her mouth to eat the fruit.
"You have the nerve to say that? If you could control yourself, I wouldn't have to go through all this trouble dealing with that bitch."
"Yes, yes, you're right, honey. It's all my fault."
Thomas nodded repeatedly, his eyes sincere. "But I swear, I truly have no feelings for that Miranda. It was just a momentary lapse... Now I see clearly, only you, my wife, are truly good to me."
He secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
As long as Elara focused all her firepower on Miranda, the child in his woman's belly would be safe.
"Hmph, at least you know what's good for you."
Elara chewed the fruit, snorting coldly. "A shameless slut like that deserves to be condemned by everyone. I'm going to make sure she can't survive in this circle. Her company will go bankrupt, her reputation ruined!"
Just then, the phone on the coffee table suddenly rang.
Elara glanced at it carelessly. An unknown number.
She answered with some annoyance: "Hello? Who is this?"
A deep, cold voice came through, carrying the authority of someone in power.
"This is Clifton Prescott."
"Clatter."
The tablet slipped from Elara's hands, dropping onto the carpet.
She instantly sprang up from the sofa, her tone carrying both disbelief, panic, and excitement.
"The Clifton Prescott from the Prescott family?"
Nearby, Thomas heard the name and nearly dropped his fruit platter.
The voice on the phone held no emotion. "One hour from now. First Club in the southern district, Room 888. I want to see you."
Without giving Elara any chance to respond, he hung up directly.
"Beep... beep..."
The dial tone sounded in the receiver. Elara still held the phone in the same position, in a state of tremendous excitement.
"H-honey." Thomas swallowed, climbing up from the floor. "That was really Clifton?"
"Yes!"
Elara's face flushed with excitement, though she retained some rationality. "Why would he want to see me? He didn't say on the phone."
Thomas immediately spoke up. "Prescott probably wants to discuss a partnership. It's not convenient over the phone."
Elara thought the same thing.
If they could latch onto the big tree of the Prescott family, their family's status would definitely rise another level.
Elara pushed Thomas aside and ran barefoot toward the dressing room. "I need to wear that new haute couture piece. I must take this partnership seriously."
Thomas watched his wife's retreating figure, the unease in his eyes dissipating, replaced by greed.
If they could really connect with Mr. Prescott... wouldn't he be able to walk sideways through this circle from now on?
...
Meanwhile, Miranda had just finished organizing all the evidence and sending it to her legal team when her phone buzzed.
A message from Clifton.
[Location: First Club]
[Come here.]
Miranda glanced at the location, her eyebrow arching slightly.
Was there some business engagement that needed her cooperation?
Though confused, Miranda didn't hesitate, calling for the driver to take her there.
Half an hour later.
Following the room number Clifton had given her, Miranda made her way to the top-floor "888" private room.
The decor here was extremely luxurious, thick handmade carpets lining the hallway, completely silent underfoot.
Standing before the heavy door, Miranda took a deep breath, adjusted her expression, then reached out to push open the door.
Except...
Clifton wasn't in the room.
Sitting in the center of the sofa, dressed to the nines and dripping with jewels, was Elara.
Their eyes met. Miranda's brow furrowed.
"Sorry, wrong room."
As she turned to leave, Elara's shrill voice rang out behind her.
"Stop right there!"
Miranda's steps paused. She turned around, staring coldly at Elara rising from the sofa.
Elara had been happily waiting for Clifton. When the door opened to reveal the Miranda she hated most, her expression instantly turned worse than if she'd swallowed a fly.
"Miranda, do you have no shame at all?"
Elara clicked over in her heels, stopping right in front of Miranda. "What? Being cursed by the entire internet isn't enough? Now you're stalking me?"
"Let me tell you, today I'm meeting a real VIP. A piece of trash like you appearing here is an insult to that person's eyes."
Miranda listened to this tirade, her brow furrowing. She didn't want to engage.
But Elara kept going.
Miranda's tone was calm but carried undeniable coldness. "I have no interest in your whereabouts, nor time to stalk you. This room, someone invited me here."
"Ha!"
Elara laughed as if she'd heard the funniest joke. "Someone invited you? With your reputation now, who would dare invite you? Invite you to do what? Check into a hotel?"
"Miranda, stop pretending. You probably found out somehow that a VIP was coming today and deliberately followed to seduce them, right?"
Elara looked Miranda up and down, her eyes full of contempt and jealousy. "Take a good look at yourself. Who would want a whore who's been used by everyone?"
Miranda's gaze turned completely cold.
She hadn't wanted to clash with Elara here, but this woman's mouth was too filthy. She needed to be taught a lesson.
"Watch your mouth."
Miranda stepped forward, her presence overwhelming, and slapped her directly.
Elara, having been hit, trembled with rage, shrieking as she reached out to push Miranda. "You dare hit me again? I'll kill you!"
Miranda was about to raise her hand to block.
Just then, a faint, rhythmic mechanical sound came from deep in the hallway.
Next, a figure appeared at the doorway.
The man sat in a custom black wheelchair, a thin blanket covering his legs, a silver half-mask on his face, revealing only his thin lips and hard-lined jaw.
Elara's hand froze in mid-air. Seeing who had arrived, the savagery on her face instantly vanished, replaced by delight.
"Clifton."
Elara forgot about Miranda, smoothing her hair as she approached. "You're finally here. I've been waiting so long."
She deliberately positioned herself in front of Miranda, trying to block Clifton's line of sight, while shooting Miranda a vicious glare and warning in a low voice:
"Get lost!"
Before Miranda could respond, Clifton spoke first from his wheelchair.
The man's voice was deep, metallic in texture, yet laced with a chilling coldness that made scalps tingle.
"Where do you want my wife to go?"
Author's Note: Miranda: Sorry Elara, the VIP you're talking about is my husband.