Chapter 124: Spank Her Butt

Chapter 124: Chapter 124: Spank Her Butt

Regency Gardens. The door shut, and the atmosphere in the living room was terrifyingly oppressive.

Miles Warren tossed Claire Kendall’s purse onto the sofa.

He opened the refrigerator and chugged half a bottle of cold water, barely managing to rein in his temper.

Claire Kendall sat on the sofa. After a long silence, she said stiffly, "Sorry for the trouble earlier."

BANG!

Miles Warren slammed the glass bottle down, his voice low.

"Is that all?"

"Claire Kendall, don’t you have anything to explain?"

Claire knew she was in the wrong. "I just went out to have some fun with Sharon Carter. We didn’t do anything inappropriate."

"Didn’t do anything inappropriate? You just ended up at the police station, is that it?"

"Or that a male model said I was old and ugly and couldn’t perform?"

Miles strode over to her and sank one knee into the sofa cushion next to her.

Claire tried to pull away, but his long arm wrapped around her, trapping her.

"Claire Kendall, you of all people should know whether I can perform or not, right?"

He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. He leaned in so close he could have bitten her lip.

"Is the doctor you have at home not enough for you? Did you have to run off to a bar and order some other guy in a white coat?"

"If you love the view so much, just say the word. I’ll strip down and wear it with nothing on underneath for you."

Claire’s heart skipped a beat as the image flashed through her mind. She involuntarily swallowed and turned her head away.

"It... It was just a coincidence."

"Then what about you and Stella Locke? You two were together before you came to the station, weren’t you!"

Miles answered patiently, "She organized a dinner. Aside from her, everyone was from the medical field. I’d been drinking, so I couldn’t drive. She just gave me a ride to the station."

Claire pressed her lips together.

’It sounds reasonable, but she’s the one he never got over! Could he really feel nothing at all?’

"I don’t want to fight with you. I’ll take care of myself from now on. I won’t be a bother to you anymore."

Claire tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge.

Miles was already furious. It wasn’t that he was angry about her seeking out male models—he knew she didn’t have the guts for that. He was angry that she and Sharon, two young women, had run off to a club like that without telling anyone. What if something had happened?

He admitted to himself that when he got her call at the dinner party and heard she was at the police station, he had panicked. His mind had gone into chaos.

But now, not only was she unrepentant, she was acting so self-righteous?

Miles was so angry his temples started to throb.

When she wrote him love letters back in the day, it was always "Miles, Miles, Miles." She was so obedient, so charming. Now, all she did was make him angry.

"Miles Warren, let me go! I said—I don’t need you meddling in my life!"

Before Claire could finish her defiant shout, the world spun.

Miles grabbed her by the wrist, hauled her up, and pushed her face-down across his lap.

"What are you doing—"

SMACK!

A sharp, crisp sound echoed.

Miles’s hand had landed squarely on her bottom. He hadn’t held back, and it stung sharply.

Claire froze, her mind going completely blank. A wave of pain and humiliation washed over her, starting from her lower back and spreading all the way to the tips of her ears.

She struggled wildly, but the man’s hand on her waist held her fast. She couldn’t turn over.

"Miles Warren! How dare you hit me!"

Claire’s voice was trembling with shame and fury.

Her dress had ridden up in the struggle, making it even easier for him to punish her.

Miles’s voice came from above, cold, yet tinged with an almost imperceptible rasp.

"If you had a shred of self-preservation, would you have been caught in a vice raid and hauled off to the police station?"

"If I hadn’t gone tonight, were you planning to spend the night in a holding cell?"

Lying across his lap, the fight went out of Claire, her back sagging.

Her bottom throbbed with a fiery pain, and an indescribable sense of grievance made tears well up in her eyes.

She sniffled. "That’s right, go on and hit me. Just beat me to death, then you can finally be with Stella Locke..."

A sudden realization seemed to strike Miles. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing the nape of her neck.

"Stella Locke... You care that much about her? Claire Kendall, are you jealous?"

His voice was probing, dropping low with a restrained, oppressive weight.

"Are you starting to fall in love with me?"

A brief silence descended upon the living room.

Claire’s tear-soaked eyelashes trembled. She reacted as if she’d been stung.

"I am not!"

"You’re imagining things! We’re both just using each other!"

"I mentioned her—I mentioned her because I was waiting for you to bring up divorce! It’s been less than a month anyway, we can just part amicably..."

"Enough!"

Miles’s voice was deep, thick with suppressed rage. He struggled to calm himself.

He didn’t want to frighten Claire.

He released her, pulled her dress back into place, and straightened up.

He stood there, a coldness seeming to seep through him from head to toe.

"There’s lemonade in the fridge. If your head hurts from the alcohol, go drink some."

He turned his back to her. "From now on, do whatever you want."

This time, he didn’t even go to the guest bedroom, heading straight for the study instead.

The living room fell quiet once more.

Claire curled up on the sofa, her heart feeling as if it were being squeezed in a vise, the tightness making it hard to breathe.

A few moments later, Miles emerged from the study.

Claire, who had her head buried in her knees, peeked up at him.

He had his car keys; it looked like he was leaving. But he paused in the entryway, then turned and went back to the bedroom.

He came back out with a thin blanket and coolly tossed it over her head, blocking her view.

The door to apartment 501 opened, then shut with a heavy thud.

Miles was gone.

Claire sniffled. Clementine jumped up beside her and started rolling around, chewing on something.

"Clementine, don’t eat that."

Claire scooped up the little kitten, pried its mouth open, and took out the object.

It was a piece of paper printed with the emblem of the "International Design Competition."

Claire’s fingers froze.

She glanced at the half-open door to the study.

’Did Clementine drag this out of there?’

’This belongs to Miles. I shouldn’t touch it.’

But this was from the International Design Competition... the official stationery from when her "New Star" series won the award.

Claire bit her lip, muttering to herself.

"I didn’t mean to look, Ginger made me..."

She unfolded the paper.

The handwriting was strong and forceful, yet familiar—identical to the script Miles used when writing his medical charts.

"Congratulations. Your wish has been granted, my sun."

It was signed with a single word: "Star."

Claire’s fingers trembled violently, her mind going completely blank.