Chapter 970
Thinking back to the vile conversation she had just overheard, Claire let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “He honestly probably thinks I’m just throwing a dramatic fit to get his attention.”
After all, for years, he had been entirely conditioned to her absolute obedience. He was so used to her endless compromises that the concept of her actually wanting a divorce simply could not compute in his arrogant brain.
Sandra didn’t know what else to say. She just gently rubbed Claire’s back in a comforting gesture.
“Let’s drink. I refuse to let irrelevant garbage ruin my night.” Claire grabbed a bottle and poured herself a full glass. “A toast. To my impending freedom.”
By the time the party finally wound down, Claire was completely hammered.
Sandra slung Claire’s arm over her shoulder, practically dragging her out the front doors of the club to hail a cab.
At that exact moment, Felix and his entourage stumbled out of the VIP exit. Evan, walking at the front of the pack, spotted them immediately. He blinked in surprise. “Whoa. Isn’t that your wife?”
Felix froze dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing sharply as he locked onto the figures near the street. It only took him a fraction of a second to recognize her. Without a word, he broke away from the group and stalked straight toward her. Sandra was busy on the phone with the cab driver, trying to explain their location. Suddenly, the weight of Claire’s arm vanished from her shoulder.
She whipped around, her eyes widening in shock as she watched Felix Quigley yank Claire violently by the arm, dragging her backward into his solid chest. His face was a mask of pure ice.
Claire’s head was spinning from the alcohol. She smashed face-first into what felt like a brick wall and let out a pained hiss. “Who the hell is that?”
She tilted her head back, glaring at the man gripping her arm like a vice. The moment her blurry vision focused on his face, her expression twisted in fury. “Let go of me!”
“When did you get back to Northcrest?” Felix ignored her completely, his grip tightening hard enough to bruise.
The pain radiating from her arm fueled her rage, and she kicked violently at his shins. “None of your damn business when I got back! Let go of me right now, or I swear to God I’m calling security!”
Felix sneered, utterly unfazed by the threat. “Evan and I own this club. Security works for me.”
“Mr. Quigley, there’s no need to force her like this.”
His aggressive behavior was too much even for Sandra. She was genuinely intimidated by the billionaire, but her loyalty to Claire won out, and she bravely stepped between them.
“This is a marital dispute,” Felix snapped, his tone dangerously low. It was a thinly veiled warning to mind her own business.
“She clearly doesn’t want to go with you. Why are you doing this—”
Before Sandra could finish, Felix cut her off, forcefully dragging a struggling Claire toward the line of luxury SUVS parked at the curb.
“You bastard! Let go of me!”
Drunk, exhausted, and wearing stilettos, Claire had zero leverage. She stumbled wildly as he dragged her, nearly twisting her ankle three different times.
“Get in the car. People are taking pictures,” Felix commanded, his voice cold and commanding. “Unless you want to be tomorrow morning’s headline?”
That made Claire freeze.
For a celebrity, getting caught in a messy, drunken street brawl with a billionaire was a PR nightmare. She had literally just signed a
multimillion-dollar contract with luxury jewelry brand. If a scandal broke now, the brand could
terminate her instantly.
The fight drained out of her. She instinctively tried to look over her shoulder to spot the paparazzi.
Felix moved with lightning speed, clamping a hand over the back of her head and shoving her downward Are you trying to give them a perfect shot of your face? Get in the damn car.”
Half-coerced, half-resigned, Claire was shoved into the plush leather interior.
Once Felix was absolutely certain she couldn’t bolt, he finally released his iron grip: Claire immediately rubbed her throbbing wrist the. adrenaline sobering her up fast “Felix, what the hell is your problem? What do you want?”
“How long are you staying in Northcrest?” Felix demanded, though his tone had fractionally softened. “Are you going to a hotel, or are you coming home?”
Home?
She almost laughed. Sorry, she didn’t have one of those.
Before she could even fire back a sarcastic response, Felix kept talking. “Come home. Your plants are dying. They need you to take care of them.”
He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. “I’ve been living at the house for the past two months.”