Chapter 8
These days, Claire had finally let things go and stopped overthinking.
She knew some fights were just unwinnable.
So instead of drowning in self-pity, she figured she'd just try to enjoy each day and stay positive.
She hoped that by acting like her old self, Michael might feel a bit nostalgic and remember their history.
And maybe, just maybe, if Emily tried anything again, Michael would actually have Claire's back.
Upon hearing her words, Michael was momentarily dazed.
He couldn't help but smile a little, almost without realizing it.
He then handed her a box. "Put this on," he said.
Claire took the box and opened it. Inside was a sapphire necklace, glistening in the sunlight.
She offered the box back to him. "There's no need. After today, I won't be Mrs. Quinn anymore."
But Michael didn't take it back. "Just wear it. Consider it a parting gift for your last day."
In the end, Claire put on the necklace. Tomorrow, she'd be free. No point in making Michael mad now.
*****
The birthday party was held at a hotel under the Quinn family.
Almost all the city's elite were present, and dozens of media outlets had also shown up.
Claire walked in, arm in arm with Michael, smiling and chatting with the guests.
She was flawless in her performance. No one could tell that this elegant Mrs. Quinn had been slapped and then hit by a car and hospitalized just a few days ago.
Miranda was overjoyed, holding Claire's hand tight and not letting go. "Claire, you look absolutely gorgeous today."
"Happy birthday, Grandma," Claire said as she presented her gift—a vintage wool tapestry embroidered by herself. The pattern was of ivy and daisies, Miranda's favorite flowers, and it had taken her three months of painstaking work.
As she might never see this kind-hearted woman again, she wanted to show her gratitude.
Miranda's eyes welled up with tears. "Sweetheart, this is the best gift I've ever received."
At the party, Claire spotted Emily.
In a white dress, she looked like a pure flower, chatting and laughing with guests beside her father.
Their eyes met, and Emily gave her a meaningful smile.
Claire quickly looked away. From now on, she was going to steer clear of that psycho.
Halfway through the party, Claire felt a little lightheaded.
"I'm going to freshen up my makeup," she told Michael.
Michael nodded. "Hurry back. Don't let Grandma get worried."
The second-floor hallway was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the lively chaos downstairs.
As soon as Claire entered the restroom, she felt a sudden dizziness and had to hold onto the sink to steady herself.
"Not feeling well?" a woman's voice asked from behind her.
Claire turned around and saw Emily, her guard going up instantly.
"What are you trying to pull, Emily? This is Michael's grandma's birthday party. If something goes wrong, Michael will definitely be pissed!" Claire warned.
"Pissed? Claire, you think I'm scared?" Emily sneered.
She stepped forward, closing in on Claire. "Even if I pissed off that old hag to death, do you really think Michael wouldn't back me up?"
Claire tried to push Emily back, but her limbs felt like jelly—she was powerless to resist.
"You..." Claire felt something wasn't right. "What the hell are you trying to do?"
Emily smiled, sweet yet malicious. "Nothing. I'm such a nice person. How could I make the old hag die of anger? Only you, a bitch, would make her die of anger."
With that, Emily waved her hand, and a man came over at her signal.
Claire tried to call for help, but the man clamped his hand over her mouth.
Emily walked right up to Claire and gave her face a few mocking pats.
"Claire, after today, everyone will know you're nothing but a slut. They'll all see you fooling around and blame you for making Miranda die of anger."
With that, Emily turned and walked away, laughing triumphantly.
Claire, weak all over, was dragged into a room by the man.
The man rubbed his hands together, leering as he reached for the strap of Claire's dress.
"Don't be scared, sweetheart. I'll make sure you have a good time..." he said, his voice dripping with sleaze.
"I'm Mrs. Quinn. If you dare to lay a finger on me, the Quinn family won't let you off the..." Claire was weak but still trying to defend herself.
The man laughed. "A woman with AIDS? How could Mr. Quinn ever want you..."
Claire never expected Emily to be this vicious—using a diseased man to wreck her life.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, Claire caught sight of a camera in the room, and panic washed over her.
This wasn't just about destroying her—Emily wanted to expose everything. If Miranda saw those shameful scenes of her?
Claire couldn't even bring herself to imagine what this would do to Miranda—just the thought made her shudder.
No wonder Emily said it was she who made Miranda die of anger.
Did Michael know that the woman he loved was so vicious and wanted his grandmother's life?
His hands tore at her clothes, each tug making her stomach turn.
She didn't want this.
Would anyone come to her rescue?
Would Michael come looking for her if he noticed I had been gone so long?
She was, after all, still legally his wife.
Claire struggled desperately, yelling for help as loud as she could.
But the hallway outside stayed eerily silent—there wasn't a single sound from the doorway.
She had to save herself, and she couldn't let Emily win.
She reached out with all her strength for the vase on the nightstand—if she couldn't stop him, she'd rather die than let Emily ruin her.
The moment Claire grabbed the vase, she swung it with all her might, smashing it down on the man's head.
The vase shattered instantly, and her hand was left dripping with blood.
The pain actually gave her a burst of strength.
She snatched up a shard of glass, pressed it hard against her neck, and stumbled off the bed, glaring at the man as he clutched his head and edged closer.
"Take one more step, and I'll do it—I'll end it right here. If I die, you'll pay for it with your life," Claire threatened.
"Jeez, it's just a hookup. Why are you acting so crazy?" The man stood there, clutching his head, not daring to move any closer.
Sleeping with her? Fine. But risking his life? Not a chance.
Even though he was infected, he still cared about his own life.
Claire gripped the shard so tightly it dug into her palm, the pain helping her stay conscious.
She inched her way to the door, flung it open, and there stood Michael.