Chapter263 Make Her Wish She Were Dead

Chapter263 Make Her Wish She Were Dead
Miranda's brow pulled together hard.
Dominic had stopped showing up at the Prescott Group offices over the past few days, but the greed hadn't stopped. It had just changed form. He kept sending her messages at irregular intervals, each one threading the same implication through polished, indirect language: a woman in her position, the Prescott wife, ought to recognize an opportunity. She should send a few profitable projects Lancaster's way while she still could.
Miranda hadn't replied to a single one.
But it turned out that when he stopped getting anywhere with her, he hadn't given up. He had simply gone to find her enemies instead.
The Prescott Group's internal situation had been fragile lately. Clifton's disappearance, Prescott's deteriorating health, word was probably already moving through the upper circles. But Prescott had worked hard to contain the information before things got bad.
Dominic reaching out to the competition now, volunteering that kind of insider knowledge as a goodwill gesture. He was trying to buy his way into their circle, using Prescott's vulnerabilities as currency, hoping to carve off a piece for Lancaster while the opportunity existed.
The moment Miranda understood what he was doing, her expression went completely flat.
"What do you think we should do?" she asked, looking at her brother, her voice carrying no warmth at all.
Christian's eyes held open contempt. "He thinks too highly of himself and too little of Prescott. He's running to Prescott's rivals asking for a seat at the table, but Lancaster means nothing to those people. He's going to end up losing everything, the company included."
Miranda sat with that for a moment.
"Good," she said quietly. "Then we use this as the moment to remove Dominic from Lancaster for good."
Christian looked at his sister, at the steadiness and the hardness in her face, and felt something ache in his chest.
He lifted his hand the way he used to when she was small, and ruffled her hair gently.
"Alright." His voice was soft, full of both approval and sorrow. "I already have a plan. You don't need to worry about Lancaster. I have it handled."
He let his hand drop, and his expression turned serious again. "I told you all of this today because you've been carrying everything alone at Prescott Group, pressure from every direction. I'm worried about you. Watch yourself with Dominic. Don't let your guard down."
"I will," Miranda said, and nodded. Whatever she was feeling, she pushed it down and kept it there. "Don't worry."
--
In the car, on the way back from the hospital.
Celeste was still seething, the anger and humiliation with nowhere to go.
She was barely halfway home when her phone rang.
She looked at the name on the screen, hesitated for just a second, then picked up.
The voice on the other end was weak and ragged with crying. Just a few sentences, and the color drained out of Celeste's face.
She hung up, wrenched the wheel hard, and sent the car screaming in the opposite direction from home with a sharp squeal of tires.
Minutes later, the car pulled through the gates of the Martinez estate.
Celeste was practically out of the door before it stopped. She rushed into the living room.
There on the sofa, curled into herself and visibly thinner than Celeste had ever seen her, was Isabella.
"Isabella!" Celeste rushed over and grabbed her cold hands. "You're back! It's all because of Miranda, all of it. Everything you went through is her fault!"
At the sound of Miranda's name, Isabella's body went tight. The dull, lifeless eyes suddenly filled with something sharp and undisguised. Her hands locked into fists.
Clearly, Isabella had been the one who called.
Nearby, Mrs. Martinez sat in an elegant loungewear set, wearing just the right amount of sorrow on her face. She came forward and placed a gentle hand on Celeste's shoulder, studying her with a look of deep sympathy.
"Celeste, I know how much you care about Isabella."
She glanced at her daughter's hollow, worn-down appearance, and her eyes went red on cue.
"Isabella was forced to leave the country because of Miranda. The trauma was too much for her. She developed depression."
She paused, as though the next part was difficult to say.
"We don't blame Clifton. But Miranda, the one who did this to her, I simply cannot bring myself to forgive that woman."
Mrs. Martinez's voice cracked, as if she couldn't go on.
"You don't know how bad it got. Isabella was alone out there. She hurt herself. Multiple times. If someone hadn't found her in time, you and I might never have seen her again."
That landed like a match thrown into gasoline.
Depression. Self-harm.
Celeste felt the blood rush to her head. She stared at the faint, healed scars along Isabella's wrists.
"That worthless Miranda!" she hissed through her teeth. "Isabella and I have both suffered so much because of her. Why does she get to live so well?"
Something clicked into place behind her eyes. A sudden, hard gleam.
She turned to face Mrs. Martinez and Isabella, dropping her voice low.
"I have an idea."
Ten minutes later, the atmosphere in the living room had turned suffocating.
Mrs. Martinez listened to the whole plan with visible unease on her face. "Celeste, are you sure about this? What if someone finds out? This is a crime."
"Don't worry, Auntie." Celeste's mouth curved into something vicious, her eyes bright with the kind of certainty that comes from not thinking clearly. "Grandpa is in the hospital. Clifton is missing. Miranda has no one backing her up. She's just an empty title. If the two of us move carefully, who's going to find anything? We'll just say she disappeared on her own."
She said it with complete conviction.
She didn't notice that while she was speaking, Mrs. Martinez and Isabella exchanged a quiet, loaded look between them.
Isabella looked away and turned her pale face toward Celeste with an expression of gentle concern.
"Celeste, I know you're doing this for me."
Her voice was soft. Careful.
"But it's too risky for you to be directly involved. Once you have her, hand her over to our people to deal with. You stay out of it completely. That way, even if something goes wrong, it won't come back on you."
Celeste felt a rush of warmth and gratitude so strong her eyes went wet.
"Isabella," she said, squeezing her hands. "You're always thinking of me, even now."
"We're best friends." Isabella smiled at her, tired and faint.
The moment her eyes dropped, the smile vanished completely.
Once Miranda was in her hands.
She was going to make that woman suffer through every single thing Isabella had been through, and more.
She was going to make her wish she had never been born.