Chapter215 Clifton Had Complete Control Over Her Sensitivity
After handling the email, Clifton tapped lightly on the touchpad, and the encrypted file instantly disappeared.
He turned his wheelchair and returned to the master bedroom.
As soon as he entered, he saw Miranda had just come out of the bathroom, using a towel to dry her damp hair.
On the bedside table sat an unopened box of allergy medication.
Clifton's brow furrowed. He stood and strode quickly toward Miranda, his tone carrying a trace of urgency even he didn't notice.
"You're having an allergic reaction too?"
Miranda's hand paused mid-motion. She looked up and saw the undisguised concern on the man's face, warmth inexplicably filling her heart.
She shook her head, her voice carrying the laziness of someone fresh from a bath.
"No."
"When I came back, I saw Isabella's symptoms downstairs looked like an allergic reaction, so I thought I'd come up and get some medication. But just as I reached the stairs, I heard the family doctor had already arrived, so I didn't go down. I came straight back to the room."
Hearing it wasn't her, Clifton's tense nerves finally relaxed as he made a low sound of acknowledgment.
Good that it wasn't her.
His gaze settled on her face. After a moment of silence, Clifton suddenly spoke.
"About your brother's car accident—there's been a development."
Miranda's heart jumped, her hand tightening on Clifton's palm in excitement.
"You found out? Who was it?"
"Don't get worked up." Clifton's voice was low and soothing. "The person who bribed that driver is indeed from the Prescott family."
He didn't finish the rest.
He'd already traced it to Celeste, but he suspected Isabella more.
So he'd decided to have his people dig deeper.
Even if the final result truly was his cousin, he wouldn't cover for her.
Otherwise, Celeste would eventually cause even more serious trouble.
Though she'd expected it, hearing this result directly still made Miranda's heart sink, a sharp pain spreading from deep within.
She bit her lip and pressed. "Who exactly is it?"
Clifton gripped her hand tighter, complex emotions in his eyes.
"Though we've found this much, I have another suspicion. Things may be more complicated than you think. Can you give me a bit more time?"
The flames of revenge burning in Miranda's heart were gradually soothed by his steady gaze.
She was silent for two seconds before finally nodding.
She trusted him.
But thinking of her brother still lying in a hospital bed while the culprit was nearby—possibly even someone from the Prescott family who passed by her daily—her mood remained heavy.
Clifton watched her still-furrowed brow, his eyes darkening.
"Don't worry. I won't let your brother's injury go unavenged." He reached out to smooth the furrow between her brows.
Unfortunately, as soon as his fingers smoothed it, Miranda's brow unconsciously furrowed again.
Watching the agitation that wouldn't leave Miranda's face, Clifton sighed.
The next second, he suddenly leaned down. Amid Miranda's startled cry, his arm swept around her and lifted her up entirely.
Then he pressed her whole body into the soft bedding.
The sudden weightlessness and the man's scalding temperature left Miranda stunned.
"You..."
"Since you're still unhappy," Clifton's body covered hers, his burning breath brushing her ear, his voice low and husky, "then I'll do something to make you happy."
Before Miranda could react, the man's hand had already slipped under the hem of her robe, his calloused fingertips traveling inch by inch across her smooth skin, precisely igniting sparks of desire.
Miranda's body instantly went soft.
She didn't know what had happened, but it seemed that ever since that night when she'd helped him with the antidote and they'd had their first intimate encounter, this man had completely mastered every sensitive spot on her body.
His every touch, every kiss could easily make her crumble.
Before she knew it, Clifton had led her to the heights of pleasure again and again, temporarily casting aside all frustration and hatred.
The next day.
Miranda didn't wake until nearly noon.
Since she was attending an evening banquet with Clifton today, she had rare free time and didn't need to go to the company.
She changed clothes and went downstairs, immediately seeing Isabella sitting elegantly in the dining room drinking coffee. It seemed last night's acute allergic reaction had completely resolved—not even a trace of the rash remained on her face.
Hearing footsteps, Isabella looked up. Her gaze met Miranda's in the air for a moment before moving away.
Arthur beside her, however, looked at Miranda with undisguised malice in his eyes, his gaze frighteningly dark.
Miranda couldn't be bothered and simply went to the dining room to eat.
That afternoon, Arthur looked at Clifton, his tone finally returning to its usual politeness. "Clifton, you're welcome to come to our house tonight. My parents want to see you and Celeste too."
Clifton made a faint sound of acknowledgment, then turned to look at Miranda beside him.
"Arthur's family business is relocating back to the country. They're hosting a party at their house tonight. Come with me."
Hearing this, Arthur's lips parted, almost blurting out "she's not qualified," but ultimately he said nothing.
That evening, Miranda changed into a silver mermaid gown she'd prepared, the bodice studded with tiny diamonds that sparkled brilliantly under the lights.
A white shawl draped over her shoulders provided both elegance and warmth.
In the downstairs living room, the old man looked at the properly dressed Clifton, Miranda, and Celeste, nodding with satisfaction.
"I won't be going to this party. I'm too old to handle all that noise." The old man leaned on his cane, his gaze finally settling on Clifton as he instructed solemnly, "Clifton, take good care of Miranda and Celeste. Don't embarrass the Prescott name."
Clifton nodded. "Yes, Grandfather. I understand."
The three got in the car, which drove smoothly out of the estate toward the Martinez family's new domestic residence.
Meanwhile, on another road leading to the Martinez villa, inside a black Bentley.
Harrison sat in the back seat.
He looked at the news about Martinez's business returning to the country, his eyes narrowing.
Though the Martinez family had relocated abroad years ago, their influence in domestic business circles remained formidable.
If he could connect with the Martinez family and secure a partnership, it would only benefit Whitmore Group.