Chapter146 I Absolutely Won't Let You Steal Harrison
The two servers looked at that thick stack of bills, their eyes lighting up.
That was worth two months' salary for them.
The server who'd just deflected swallowed and grabbed the money, immediately changing her tune. "Yes, it's that gentleman in room 208. Though we don't know his name, he definitely came at lunch today with a different woman."
In that instant, Ariana felt all the blood in her body turn cold.
It really was Harrison.
He'd lied to her.
All that talk about being busy with work, about meetings—he was busy having meals with another woman!
Intense jealousy and rage gnawed at her heart. Ariana took a deep breath, her nails digging deep into her palms. "What did that woman look like?"
"Pretty attractive, tall..." The server described her while gesturing.
Each description was a knife in Ariana's heart.
The description was too familiar.
Ariana's trembling hand pulled out her phone. She opened her photo album, found a picture of Miranda, and shoved the screen in the server's face.
"Is this her?"
The server leaned in for a look and immediately nodded. "Yes, yes! That's her, absolutely!"
"Boom."
The last thread in Ariana's mind snapped.
It really was Miranda!
Damn her!
Already divorced, already thrown out of the Whitmore family—why was she still clinging to Harrison?
Actually sneaking around on secret dates behind her back!
"Nothing else?" Seeing her face turn frighteningly pale, her expression vicious enough to eat someone, the server shrank back nervously. "Then we'll go now."
The two clutched the money and immediately ran off.
Only Ariana remained at the end of the corridor.
She gripped her phone tightly, knuckles white. On the screen, Miranda smiled with cool elegance, as if mocking her embarrassment and stupidity.
"Miranda!"
Ariana squeezed out that name through gritted teeth, her eyes full of venomous coldness.
"I absolutely won't let you steal Harrison from me!"
Meanwhile, in her brightly lit office.
Miranda had no idea she was being hated by Ariana again. She'd just finished processing the last urgent document, tiredly rubbing her temples.
But she didn't leave work. Instead, she pulled a fresh sheet of drafting paper from her drawer.
Miranda gripped a pencil, her gaze focused.
She wanted to give Clifton a gift, to thank him for recklessly saving her at the mine.
The pencil tip scratched across the paper as smooth lines outlined an exquisite shape.
A pair of men's cufflinks.
Simple yet elegant in design, with an openwork pattern on the sides.
And at the center of each cufflink, she'd left space for a gemstone setting.
In the safe in her bedroom, she had an uncut raw stone displaying a mesmerizing deep blue color.
She'd found it on an ice field when she was twelve, during a family trip to see the Northern Lights in the Arctic.
The stone had been appraised as an extremely rare associated mineral. The closer to the center, the deeper the blue became, as if that night's aurora and the deep sea were both sealed inside.
All these years, she'd been reluctant to touch this stone.
It represented her purest, most beautiful memories.
Now, she wanted to give it to Clifton.
She wanted to forge all those beautiful memories into these cufflinks, worn at his wrists, as if she were by his side.
Night deepened.
When the clock struck nine PM, Miranda finally set down her pencil.
Looking at the finalized design on the drafting paper, she exhaled in satisfaction and carefully tucked the drawing into her bag.
First thing tomorrow morning, she'd go back for that raw stone and then find a craftsman to polish it.
By the time she drove back to Prescott Manor, it was already nine-thirty.
Miranda parked the car and instinctively looked up toward the second-floor master bedroom.
She'd expected it to be dark, but surprisingly, a warm yellow glow seeped through the curtain gap.
Miranda's heart suddenly beat faster.
The light was on.
Could Clifton be back?
An indescribable surge of joy rushed through her, dispersing her physical fatigue.
Miranda's steps up the stairs quickened considerably.
The moment she pushed open the bedroom door, her breathing was still somewhat rapid.
The room was empty. The bed's covers were neatly arranged, showing no signs of being slept in.
No one?
The light in Miranda's eyes instantly dimmed, disappointment flooding her heart.
Just then, the sound of a lock turning came from the bathroom.
The door opened.
A wave of warm steam mixed with the fir scent of body wash poured out.
Clifton emerged bare-chested.
He wore only a white towel around his waist. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, smooth and taut muscle lines. Undried water droplets slid down along the contours of his chest muscles, disappearing into the towel's edge.
In the bright light, she could clearly see his arms and side covered in scrapes and bruises of various sizes.
Miranda's nose stung, her eyes reddening.
"You... you're back?"
Clifton was using a towel to dry his hair. Hearing her voice, his movements paused.
He looked up, those dark, deep eyes coldly sweeping over. Seeing Miranda standing in the doorway, his gaze showed no additional emotion.
"Mm."
Just one word, cold as if wrapped in ice.
Clifton casually draped the towel around his neck and without another glance at her, walked directly to the bed and picked up a tube of ointment from the nightstand, preparing to apply it to his arm.
Because the wound was on his back side, he struggled somewhat.
Miranda watched his movements, her heart twisting painfully.
She quickly walked over, reaching to take the ointment from his hand. "Let me help you."
Before her hand even touched the ointment, Clifton abruptly dodged aside.
Miranda's hand froze in midair, fingertips trembling.
Clifton kept his face cold, not even lifting his head, his voice low and hoarse. "No need."
The man's aloofness was even stronger than that day at the base.
Miranda bit her lip, forcibly suppressing the sourness in her heart, stubbornly taking another step forward.
"Then let me at least dry your hair..."
As she spoke, she reached for the towel around his neck.
This time, Clifton directly grabbed her wrist.
The pressure wasn't strong, but enough to keep her from moving.
"Miranda."
Clifton lifted his eyelids, suppressed darkness churning in his eyes.
"Not necessary."
With that, the man stood to step past her.
Seeing this, Miranda steeled herself.
Before Clifton could react, she dropped down and wrapped both arms tightly around his thighs.
"No!"
Miranda buried her face against the side of his cool thigh, tears instantly wetting his skin.
"Clifton, you can't leave. Let me explain."
Clifton's entire body stiffened, as if frozen in place.
He looked down at the woman—usually so cool and composed, now without any dignity, crouching on the floor clutching his thighs—a crack appearing in the ice in his eyes.
"Miranda, do you know what you're doing?"
Clifton ground his teeth, his voice carrying a trace of suppressed trembling. "Let go."
"I won't!"
Miranda held on even tighter, like a drowning person clutching the last piece of driftwood, her voice choked with tears yet radiating stubbornness.
"Unless you listen to what I have to say, I won't let go even if it kills me."