Chapter65 Last Night's Man Was Clifton
The next morning.
Sunlight filtered through the heavy curtain gaps, casting a glaring strip of light on the luxurious carpet.
Miranda was awakened by intense thirst. Her throat felt like it was on fire, terribly parched.
She instinctively moved, trying to prop herself up to get out of bed and find water. But those fragmented, nightmare-like scenes from last night suddenly rushed into her mind without warning.
The burning heat in her body after being drugged, those four men with ill intentions, and the despair of seeking help from Harrison but not being noticed...
Fear, like icy floodwater, instantly engulfed her.
Just then, she clearly felt a strong, powerful hand resting on her waist, with irresistible force, holding her tightly in an embrace.
And deep within her body, there was also an unfamiliar aching sensation.
Could it be that last night, she still hadn't escaped being...by those thugs?
Once this thought emerged, all the blood in her body froze instantly.
"Ah!"
A shrill scream tore through the morning quiet. Miranda sat up abruptly, clutching the blanket tightly to her chest, her whole body trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind.
Humiliation, disgust, and overwhelming hatred burned through her, nearly making her lose her mind.
With bloodshot eyes, she grabbed the pillow from the bedside and used all her strength to smash it fiercely toward the silhouette of the man beside her.
She wanted to kill him! She wanted to kill these animals!
However, the expected dull thud of impact never came.
The large hand that had been resting on her waist shot out like lightning, easily catching her desperate attack, and casually tossed the pillow aside.
Immediately after, a deep male voice, heavy with sleep yet familiar, lazily emerged from under the blanket.
"You used me just yesterday, and today you’re pretending you don’t know me?"
That voice...
Miranda's pillow-throwing motion suddenly froze.
She was completely stunned.
Like someone had pressed pause on her, she pulled the blanket off the man's face in disbelief.
What was revealed wasn't the lewd, filthy face of some thug, but Clifton's impeccably handsome sleeping face.
The morning light outlined his deep, sculpted features. Long, thick lashes cast a small shadow beneath his eyes. Asleep, he had shed his usual cold aloofness and actually looked somewhat harmless.
Miranda stood dazed for a long time before finally finding her dry, hoarse voice, each word trembling with the relief of surviving a catastrophe.
"It was you. Not those men from yesterday."
Her whole body seemed drained of all strength. Her tense body instantly went limp, and the fear and despair that had nearly torn her apart finally receded like a tide.
Thank god. It wasn't them. Thank god.
Clifton slowly opened his eyes. Those unfathomably dark eyes still carried a trace of drowsiness from just waking up. He turned on his side, propping up his upper body. His firm, smooth arm muscles looked especially powerful in the morning light.
Seeing Miranda's obvious relief, he leaned closer, his warm breath nearly brushing her ear.
"You forgot?" His voice was low and magnetic. "Yesterday, those men were beaten off by me."
One sentence, like a key, instantly opened the floodgates of Miranda's memory.
She remembered.
Just when she was most desperate, Clifton had appeared like a god, kicking open that door.
He had saved her.
This realization made Miranda unable to suppress her emotions any longer.
Her nose stung sharply, and her eyes instantly reddened.
She suddenly lunged forward, using all her strength to hold Clifton tightly.
Scalding tears, like broken beads, poured out uncontrollably.
She didn't dare think, really didn't dare think what would have happened to her yesterday without Clifton, what she would have become.
That belated fear now completely devoured her.
The warm teardrops, through the thin fabric, fell burning hot on Clifton's shoulder.
His body obviously stiffened.
Miranda was crying?
This woman, who had been hit by a heavy iron pole at the restaurant, bleeding profusely, sent to the hospital for stitches, hadn't shed a single tear from beginning to end.
But now, this incredibly strong woman was crying on his shoulder like a child because he had saved her.
In his heart, it was as if the softest place had been fiercely touched by these scalding tears.
Clifton raised his hand, hesitated for a moment, then finally slowly lowered it onto Miranda's back, stroking gently over and over, soothing her.
After an unknown amount of time, the person in his arms finally gradually calmed down.
Miranda slowly released Clifton, whom she had been holding so tightly. Her face felt hot, and even her ears were flushed red.
She kept her head down, crystal tears still hanging on her long lashes. She didn't dare look into Clifton's eyes at all.
Above her head came an extremely soft laugh.
"Feeling better after crying it out?"
Miranda nodded, her voice still thick with congestion, barely audible. "Mm."
She paused, took a deep breath, as if gathering enormous courage before speaking again. "Thank you for last night. I can take medicine."
Clifton's brow furrowed slightly. "What medicine?"
Miranda bit her lower lip. The flush on her cheeks deepened, and her voice grew even softer. "Birth control."
Although her memory after returning from the small building was blurry, she could clearly feel the changes in her body. Besides, with how strong the drug was, the only way to relieve it was definitely…
At these words, Clifton's eyes instantly darkened.
He leaned close again, almost nose to nose, his dark eyes locked on hers, his tone carrying a hint of danger.
"You don't want to have my child?"
Miranda's heart jumped at his gaze. She instinctively looked up at him in surprise.
"Aren’t we in a contractual marriage?"
She nervously gripped the sheets beneath her, a sourness rising in her heart.
She knew her position clearly. She was just a tool Clifton used to deal with the Prescotts. How could she have such unrealistic fantasies?
Seeing the tension and distance in her eyes, Clifton's gaze darkened.
He sat up straight, his voice returning to its usual coolness. "Last night, I only used my hand to relieve the drug's effects for you."
He paused, the corner of his mouth curving into an ambiguous arc, his gaze sweeping over her body with aggressive intensity.
"If we'd actually done that, do you think you'd be able to get out of bed today?"
Miranda's face turned red with a "whoosh," almost enough to drip blood.
This man was way too confident in himself!
But her gaze uncontrollably glanced toward a certain area below Clifton's body.
On second thought, he probably did have the capital to be that confident.
Just as she was lost in these chaotic thoughts, a long-fingered hand suddenly gripped her chin, forcing her to look up and meet his deep eyes.