Chapter199 Who Said I Liked Her?
"Clifton, let's go to your room. I’ll make you feel better."
Miranda watched them. Clifton hadn't pushed her away.
She gripped her bag so hard her knuckles turned white. She bit her lip until it bled to keep from crying out.
She had spent the whole evening thinking of how to apologize, and here he was, flirting with another woman.
But she knew her place. She had no right to be angry.
That was the bitterest part. It felt like her heart was soaking in acid. She could barely breathe.
The room blurred as tears filled her eyes.
Miranda turned around and ran out the door.
Inside.
The shock of the moment finally cleared Clifton’s mind.
The heat was still tearing through him, but he finally saw the face in front of him. It was Isabella, not Miranda.
"Get out!"
Clifton’s strength returned in a surge of anger. He grabbed Isabella’s hand and shoved her away.
"Ah!"
Isabella wasn't ready. She fell onto her backside, staring at him in shock.
Clifton ignored her. He heard a noise behind him and spun his chair around.
He saw the edge of a familiar dress disappear.
Miranda!
Was she back?
Had she seen them? Did she misunderstand?
Clifton’s heart sank. A wave of panic hit him, stronger than the drug.
"Damn it!"
He ignored his dizzy head and raced his wheelchair toward the door.
He pushed it as fast as it would go, but it felt too slow.
For the first time, he hated this fake wheelchair.
Once he found the traitor in the Prescott family and wiped them out, the first thing he would do was walk again.
Outside, the night was dark.
Miranda ran, her tears finally falling.
She reached her car and fumbled for the door handle.
She didn't know where she was going. She just had to get away from this suffocating place.
Just as she pulled the door open—
SLAM!
A large hand hit the car door, slamming it shut with terrifying force.
Miranda spun around, startled.
Clifton was there in his wheelchair. His chest was heaving. His hair was a mess, falling over his red, glowing eyes.
His shirt was open, showing his flushed chest. He looked like a wild animal.
"Where do you think you're going this late?"
His voice was deep and raspy. It carried a heavy pressure and a slight, hidden tremble.
Miranda looked away. She didn't want him to see her tears, and she couldn't stand to look at him.
Every time she saw him like this, she pictured Isabella’s hand on his skin.
It hurt. It hurt so much.
"I have work to do. I’m staying out tonight," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Clifton stared at her.
Yesterday she wouldn't sleep with him, and today she was trying to run away. The fire in his chest burned hotter.
"Miranda, I won't allow it."
His hand stayed firm on the door. "Did you forget? You are Mrs. Prescott. You are my wife. You think you can just not come home? Don't be naive."
Miranda felt a wave of bitterness.
He was using their marriage to control her, while he was with another woman.
The contract marriage was her choice, but she had her pride. She wouldn't be the "other woman" in someone else's love story.
Her chest heaved. "If you love Isabella so much, why didn't you just marry her? Why marry me and then use this title to trap me?"
Clifton froze.
He loved Isabella?
Since when?
Did she have any idea what she was saying?
But seeing her red eyes, his heart twisted. He couldn't bring himself to be angry.
The drug was making his body scream, but he forced it down.
He realized she had misunderstood everything. If he didn't explain now, who knew what this silly woman would think?
Her coldness over the last few days had hurt him more than any drug.
Clifton reached out and tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.
He was a bit rough, and it hurt, but she didn't pull away. She just stared at him with defiance.
"Who told you I liked her?"
His dark eyes reflected only her. It was as if she were the only person in his world.
"I have never liked Isabella. I would never marry her. Stop making things up. Do you hear me?"
His breath was hot against her skin.
Miranda stared at him.
They were so close she could see the sweat on his brow. She could feel that something was very wrong with his body.
"You..."
Her lips trembled. A tear hung from her lashes. "Then why... why didn't you push her away? Why did you let her touch you?"
Seeing her look so small and hurt, Clifton’s anger vanished.
Was she... jealous?
The thought gave him a secret spark of joy.
"I—" He started to explain that he was drugged and dizzy.
But the surge of emotion triggered a violent reaction from the drug in his system.
Clifton groaned. His hand dropped from her chin. He lost control and slumped forward, his forehead landing heavily against her stomach.
"Oh!"
Miranda gasped, instinctively trying to push him back.
But the moment her hands touched his shoulders, she felt the heat radiating through his shirt.
He was like a furnace.
"Clifton? Clifton, what's wrong?"
Her anger turned into pure panic.
Clifton leaned into her, breathing in her cool, clean scent. To him, it was the only cure—and the most dangerous poison.
He couldn't get enough of her.
"I was drugged," he whispered, looking up at her with a raw, desperate gaze. "Miranda... help me..."