Chapter 3
After three years, Michael's reputation as the doting husband was unshakable, and Quinn Holdings' stock shot up, doubling its value.
Claire and Michael had their divorce story all planned out.
Claire would say she was infertile, feeling guilty for not giving the Quinn family an heir, so she'd insist on leaving for their sake.
Then Michael would play the devoted husband—begging her to stay, then letting her go with a broken heart. That way, he'd pull in another wave of sympathy and keep Quinn Holdings' shares rock solid.
Talk about a flawless PR strategy.
Claire's silence only made Emily more brazen.
"Claire, you're just a stand-in. Don't get your hopes up for things that were never yours. Understand?" Emily sneered.
Claire looked at the beautiful face contorted by jealousy and spite. Three months. She just had to last three more months.
Her response was calm, detached. "You're right, Ms. Lane. I'm just a stand-in.
"But even stand-ins have their own rules—until the curtain falls, I'm still the one on stage. If you slap me, you're slapping Michael, too."
Claire took a step forward, and Emily instinctively stepped back.
"So, for everyone's sake, it's best if we keep the peace. Let's not make things difficult for Michael," she said coolly.
Emily sneered, saying, "You? You really think you're important enough to trouble Michael?
"Looks like you still don't get where you stand. Let me make it crystal clear for you."
Her hand shot out in a swift, sharp arc.
The slap landed with a crack, sharp and stinging. Heat blossomed across Claire's cheek, followed by a ringing in her ears. For a moment, the world blurred.
She had been her parents' cherished daughter, loved and protected, never once slapped in her life.
Rage took over, drowning out all reason.
Without a second thought, Claire raised her hand, about to slap Emily right back.
But just then, the door burst open.
Michael stormed in, his voice roaring with anger.
"Don't push it, Claire!" he snapped.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he clamped down on her wrist, stopping her cold.
With a forceful shove, he pushed her aside.
Claire's waist slammed hard against the cabinet, a sharp pain jolting through her.
She held back her tears, gritting her teeth against the pain.
"Michael, are you blind? She slapped me first!" Claire snapped.
Michael looked at the clear handprint on Claire's face, his expression annoyed and impatient.
"Three thousand dollars for a slap—will that shut you up?" Michael said, his voice icy.
Claire looked at him in disbelief—the man she'd played wife to for three years.
In all that time, whenever anyone looked down on her origins or tried to humiliate her, Michael had always been there, a shield between her and the scorn.
He used to say, "All the money in the world doesn't mean a thing if you don't have any decency."
He'd always say, "My wife isn't someone you can push around."
For three years, he had protected her. Not once had he let her face real humiliation.
But today, he kept making her swallow her pride, time after time.
"Didn't you say that as long as I was your Mrs. Quinn, no one would dare mess with me? So this is what your promise means?" Claire's voice was tight with hurt.
Emily snorted with derision. "You're nothing but my substitute. Now that I'm back, do you seriously think Michael will still stand up for you? Don't kid yourself.
"If I were you, I'd keep my tail between my legs and stay out of my way."
Michael offered no argument, his gaze fixed on Claire as he raised the stakes again. "Not enough? 300 thousand dollars."
"I don't want your money," Claire replied, her tone unwavering.
Michael's brow furrowed. "Claire, be reasonable. 300 thousand is more than enough to last you years."
"Too bad, I'm not short of money," Claire replied. She didn't even finish her sentence before she swung her hand and landed a fierce slap right across Emily's face.
The Bennett family, though from a village, ran their own successful livestock enterprise.
Sure, they're not in the same league as the Quinns, but Claire definitely wasn't strapped for cash.
As the sharp crack echoed, Michael finally sprang into motion, rushing to Emily's side.
"Emily, are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern.
Emily pushed him away, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Michael, are you really going to let her slap me right in front of you? Do you not love me anymore?" she cried.
"No, Emily, you know you're the only one I love," Michael said, trying to reassure her.
"Then slap her for me!" Emily snapped, her voice sharp and demanding.
Michael hesitated, looking torn. "Emily, she saved my grandma, I..."
"Fine, if that's your answer, we're done. Don't bother coming after me again," Emily said coldly, spinning on her heel to leave.
Michael grabbed her arm. "You know you're the only one I care about."
Emily sobbed, her voice breaking, "Do you even know how much I've suffered? Back then, your grandma forced me to leave. Do you know how hard it was for me, all alone in a foreign country?
"And now I'm finally back, only to be humiliated in public by your so-called 'wife.' Michael, you promised you'd never let me be wronged!"
Michael's eyes flickered with struggle, but in the end, his expression turned cold and determined. "Fine, I'll stand up for you."
He turned around and started closing in on Claire, each step full of menace.
Claire was cornered, her back pressed against the icy glass of the mirror.
"So this is your gratitude, Michael?" Claire spat, defiance mixing with disbelief. "Are you not afraid of karma?"
His fists clenched, then slowly uncurled. "I promised Emily no one would ever hurt her again. As for the debt I owe you—name your price."
The sentence hung in the air for only a second before his hand swung in a swift arc.
The slap connected with a sickening sound, snapping Claire's head to the side.
A thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth, mingling with the crimson streak on her forehead to paint a picture of sheer wretchedness.
"Michael, respect goes both ways. If you want mine, you'd better show some yourself. And let me tell you—I'm not some pushover!" Claire shot back, her voice steely and unyielding.
She snatched up her makeup bag and flung it right at Michael.
Michael sidestepped it without breaking a sweat.