Chapter 175: Young Uncle, Why Don’t You Speak

Chapter 175: Chapter 175: Young Uncle, Why Don’t You Speak

BEEP— The key card beeped against the door lock.

Claire Kendall anxiously pushed Miles Warren away, rubbing hard at the red mark on her collarbone.

The more she rubbed, the redder it became. The mark was blatantly obvious and wouldn’t fade.

She got off the bed barefoot. Her knees went weak, and she nearly collapsed on the floor.

She looked at her reddened knees and gritted her teeth. ’I knelt for way too long last night...’

Miles Warren brought over a pair of the hotel’s disposable slippers, bent down, and held her ankle to slip one onto her foot.

"This isn’t home; there’s no carpet. You’ll catch a cold if you don’t wear shoes."

The door was pushed wide open.

Camera flashes went off in a frenzy. A dozen or so reporters were crowded at the entrance, their lenses aimed at the couple by the bed.

When Zane saw Miles Warren’s posture, he froze for a moment, then sneered with disdain.

’He’s a prominent figure in Aethel, after all. Squatting down to put shoes on a waitress? He’s been bewitched by a pretty face.’

"Well, well, Mr. Warren. I stalled them outside for so long. Why haven’t you two left yet!"

Miles Warren didn’t even look up, his movements unhurried.

He put on one slipper, then the other, and patted her instep lightly. "There."

The reporters were ecstatic.

"Mr. Warren, can you explain what happened last night?"

"Is this lady really a waitress at The Imperial Hotel?"

"You’re being so open about this. Does this mean there are problems in your marriage?"

The person on the bed swung her feet, suddenly turned to face the cameras, and spoke in a light, slow tone.

"My husband is putting my shoes on for me. What are you all taking pictures of?"

The room went quiet for two seconds.

The reporters looked at each other, stunned into silence. For a long moment, they couldn’t utter a single word.

’How could that bright, beautiful face belong to a mere waitress!’

Zane’s expression was even more spectacular. The color drained from his face, then rushed back in a crimson tide. His finger, pointing at Claire Kendall, trembled uncontrollably.

"You... How are you..."

"Hello, Mr. Zane!" Claire Kendall’s lips curved into a smile and she gave him a little wave, but there was no mirth in her eyes. "I accidentally spilled some wine yesterday. The Imperial didn’t ask you to pay for it, did they?"

A vein on Zane’s forehead throbbed relentlessly.

’The waitress was actually Claire Kendall, Miles Warren’s lawfully wedded wife.’

The reporters chimed in awkwardly.

"So it’s Mrs. Warren. You two seem to have a wonderful relationship."

"Yes, Mr. Warren is truly a model husband for the new era."

"It was all a misunderstanding, just a big misunderstanding. We’ll be on our way, then."

...

As they spoke, the crowd started to back away. ℴ

Miles Warren unhurriedly picked up his suit jacket, shook it out, and draped it over Claire Kendall’s shoulders.

He didn’t look at them. His voice was level. "All of you, stay."

"Breaking into a private room, filming without consent, and slander."

Miles Warren finally tore his gaze away from Claire Kendall and turned to face them.

"I’ve already called the police. The Warren Group’s legal team will be here shortly."

As his words fell, the sound of synchronized footsteps came from outside the door. Ten lawyers in suits, each carrying a briefcase, filed into the room.

"Esteemed members of the press, please step outside to have a chat."

The reporters didn’t dare make a sound, like a flock of ducks being herded. In their panic, they threw Zane under the bus, confessing that he was the one who had fed them the false tip and told them to come.

Zane’s face went completely pale. He immediately dialed Caden Monroe’s number.

It rang for a long time, but no one answered.

He finally realized that Caden Monroe hadn’t shown his face at all since the banquet ended last night.

’He’d been played!’

In a coffee shop across from The Imperial, Vera Sloan watched as the reporters were escorted into police cars, a cold, disdainful sneer playing on her lips.

"A bunch of idiots."

She quickly typed on her phone and sent a text. [It failed.]

The reply came back quickly.

[Useless fool. Find someone to go to Quillmore and help Jacob Sinclair wrap up his project. Tell him to get back here right away.]

The farce was over.

Miles Warren carried Claire Kendall out of the hotel and placed her in the car.

"Are your legs still weak?" He leaned over to fasten her seatbelt, his nose brushing against her earlobe.

Claire Kendall turned her head to dodge him. Her legs were sore, and she shot him an irritated glare.

"Why don’t you try kneeling for a whole night?"

Miles Warren chuckled softly. "Alright. Next time, it’ll be my turn to kneel."

He drove her back to Regency Gardens.

"I had Mrs. Wells come over early to heat up some century egg congee. Eat some before you go back to sleep."

"I’m going to the office to wrap up the business with the shares."

Barefoot, Claire Kendall stepped onto the soft carpet in the living room. "You remember to eat something too."

「Warren Pharma, Top-Floor Conference Room」

The long table was lined with people, with Miles Warren seated at the head.

The projector was displaying the transfer agreement for the shares under Zane’s name.

Zane had already been taken to the police station. Having committed a fundamental breach, his presence wasn’t required for his shares to be unconditionally reclaimed.

Caden Monroe sat off to one side. He hadn’t said a single word since the meeting began.

After all, he was the one who had brought Zane to apologize to Miles Warren. Although he could probably extricate himself cleanly, it was best to lay low and protect himself for now.

’It doesn’t matter to me if Miles takes those shares.’

Zane had served himself up on a platter. It was a done deal, and Miles Warren couldn’t even be bothered to lift an eyelid.

He stared at his phone screen, sending a message to Mrs. Wells.

[Go clean up in an hour. Be quiet. Don’t wake her.]

Suddenly, the conference room door was pushed open.

A man stood there in a dark red shirt, the top few buttons undone. A flippant, devil-may-care smile hung on his lips.

Felix Warren was holding an exquisite birdcage. Inside was a parrot with brightly colored feathers, chirping and fluttering restlessly.

Miles Warren’s gaze fell on the birdcage.

Teasing the bird in the cage, he pulled out a nearby chair and sat down. He stretched out his long legs, crossed them, and grinned at Miles Warren, who was at the head of the table.

"Youngest Uncle, having a meeting? Sorry to interrupt."

"I know you’re busy with work, with lots on your mind, so I picked up a little something for you." He tapped the cage. "Give my youngest uncle a chirp or two."

The parrot flapped its wings, its sharp voice erupting in a crisp, loud squawk.

Miles Warren stared at it, his breathing suddenly shallow and rapid. His fingers unconsciously clenched into a fist.

His assistant, Stanley Lewis, sitting beside him, sensed something was wrong. "Mr. Warren?"

Miles Warren didn’t respond. His body was slightly rigid, a murderous glint flashing in his eyes before he forcibly suppressed it.

’The pigeon that had been with him for so long was also a bird like this. Its feathers were soft and limp, its heart thumping beneath a thin layer of skin and flesh.’

’Once, twice, three times... until it stopped breathing.’

"You really are a useless piece of trash."

"Miles, I’m doing this for your own good."

...

Felix Warren pretended to poke his finger at the parrot to tease it, but his eyes were carefully observing Miles Warren’s reaction the entire time.

"Youngest Uncle, why aren’t you saying anything? You should keep a bird. It’ll lift your spirits."

He stood up and, carrying the birdcage, approached Miles Warren step by step.

The grating squawks of the bird drilled into Miles Warren’s ears, and his self-control was stretched to its limit.

Darkness, blood, self-loathing... all of it was breeding and spreading wildly within him.