Chapter196 The Argument
"Uncle, you sounded urgent. What's wrong?" Harrison’s voice was unreadable. He calmly capped his pen, his movements steady and deliberate.
Dominic’s voice was laced with ice. "Where have you been the last few days?"
Harrison’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly before smoothing out. His tone remained flat. "I was at a closed-door government meeting in the next city. The signal was jammed the entire time. All phones had to be off."
Hearing this, Dominic’s expression softened slightly, but the anxiety in his eyes didn't fade. He pulled out a chair and leaned forward, his voice low but frantic. "Ariana is in jail! Miranda refuses to sign the settlement agreement."
"Jail?"
Harrison’s calm shattered, replaced by a flash of shock. His mind immediately went to the woman he had seen at the seaside restaurant a few days ago—Miranda, in that vibrant wine-red dress, looking so full of life.
"What did Ariana do?" Harrison’s voice dropped an octave.
Dominic’s eyes flickered. He brushed it off as if it were nothing. "Just a small misunderstanding between sisters, but Miranda won't let it go. She’s hiding from me, ignoring my calls, and refusing to come home. Harrison, you two were married. Go talk to her. Make her sign that settlement."
Harrison knew Miranda’s temperament. She never started trouble. He also knew he wouldn't get the truth out of Dominic.
He finally uttered a few words: "Fine. I'll handle it."
Satisfied with the promise, Dominic left. Once the office door clicked shut, Harrison sank back into his large leather chair. He rested his forehead on his hand and closed his eyes.
Images of Miranda flooded his mind.
He saw her in an apron, busily preparing meals for him in the kitchen. He saw her lonely silhouette asleep on the sofa, waiting up for him after a night he never came home. And he saw her eyes—dull and lifeless—the moment she signed the divorce papers.
He realized that since the divorce, Miranda appeared in his mind more clearly than ever before.
He thought back to their beginning. He was the one who pursued her. Under a sky full of fireworks, he had promised to love her for a lifetime. How did they end up like this in just a few short years?
A heavy sigh echoed through the empty office.
Harrison opened his eyes. The last trace of warmth had vanished, replaced by a cold, analytical gaze. He hadn't become the CEO of the Whitmore Group at such a young age by being a fool.
In an instant, details he had previously ignored flashed through his mind. Every argument with Miranda, every escalating conflict—there was always a shadow he had chosen to overlook: Ariana.
It was Ariana who "accidentally" mentioned Miranda’s new luxury bags. It was Ariana who "kindly" warned him that Miranda had too many male friends. It was Ariana who cried to him about how Miranda "bullied" her.
Harrison’s gaze turned icy. He picked up the intercom. "Set up a time for me. I’m visiting Ariana in prison."
---
Late night at a bar.
"Captain, what’s the occasion? Why the sudden urge to take the boys out for a drink?" a young man in a biker jacket teased, raising his glass. It was one of Clifton’s special ops teammates.
Clifton didn't answer. His long fingers traced the rim of his cold glass. The whiskey shimmered like amber under the dim lights.
His thoughts were miles away, back at the manor.
Ever since they returned from the hospital, Miranda had been cold and distant. It wasn't a forced coldness, but a wall of separation. When he spoke, she drifted off. Even when he called her name, she would stare at him blankly for several seconds, looking at him like he was a stranger.
He thought she was sick and called a family doctor, but the results were normal. He figured she was just worried about her brother, Christian, after the accident.
But then, right before bed—
"Clifton, I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight. Get some rest." Her tone was indifferent.
Hearing those words, a surge of emotion hit Clifton. He moved toward her, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"Miranda, what is this about?"
Miranda avoided his gaze. "Nothing. I just want to sleep alone tonight."
Clifton let out a sharp, angry laugh. No matter how dense he might be, he could feel it now. She was pushing him away.
"Heh." His cold chuckle rang through the bedroom.
He let go of her chin with a harsh flick. Without another look at her, he slammed the door and walked out.
The memory ended there. Clifton tilted his head back and downed the burning liquor in one gulp. The heat seared his throat and hit his stomach, but it couldn't smother the unexplained fire in his heart.
A mocking smile touched his lips. Miranda, you’re really something.
---
At the Prescott Estate, in the master bedroom.
Miranda was still standing in the exact same spot where Clifton had left her. When her limbs grew stiff, she finally moved. All her strength seemed gone as she crawled into the vast, empty bed.
She closed her eyes and told herself she believed him. She believed Clifton hadn't done it. A man like him wouldn't stoop to such dirty tactics.
But...
After hearing that conversation in the hospital hallway, she had used every connection and every cent she had to investigate. Right before Clifton arrived at the hospital, she received the first report.
The drunk truck driver who hit her brother was a former driver who had been fired by Mr. Prescott.
The driver had a simple life and clear finances. He wouldn't take a risk like this unless the person behind it could protect him—or if he owed them a massive debt.
The only person Miranda could think of was Mr. Prescott himself.
Regardless of which Prescott gave the order, she would never forgive anyone who tried to kill her brother.
But she didn't dare tell Clifton. She was afraid. She was terrified she would hear cold words from his mouth telling her to drop the investigation.
After all, he was the Prescott heir.
Faced with family versus the "truth," she wasn't sure if Clifton would stand by her side. Even if he wanted to, Mr. Prescott would never allow him to destabilize the family for her sake.
Her heart felt trapped in an invisible web. The more she struggled, the tighter it pulled.
In the darkness, the expensive silk pillowcase grew damp and stained with cold tears.