Retribution in Bloom

Scott Protected Me

"Ah!" In a swift, instinctive motion, I ducked behind Scott, my expression the picture of a frightened little deer seeking refuge.

"What are you doing here?" Scott's earlier warmth vanished, replaced by an icy indifference as he fixed Michele with a sharp gaze.

Without a moment's hesitation, he positioned himself between us, his arms wrapping protectively around me.

Michele's face contorted with fury when she saw that, her knuckles whitening as she clenched her fists. "Adrianna! You wretched—" Her voice cracked, thick with rage.

Scott's face darkened, and his voice was cold and cutting as he ordered, "Michele, apologize to Adrianna now."

I could hardly believe it. He wasn't holding back at all. He offered Michele no dignity, no escape.

Her face paled, and her voice, shrill and trembling with disbelief, rang out. "Why should I apologize to that shameless woman? She's the one who seduced you—"

"Shut up!" Scott's sharp retort sliced through her accusation before she could finish. "Is this the kind of upbringing the Finnen Family gave you? Is this how they taught you to behave?"

"Apologize," he demanded, his tone brooking no argument. "Did you not hear me?"

From behind Scott, I peeked through the small space between his shoulders and watched Michele with cold detachment.

A flicker of provocation sparked in my eyes, but my voice shook with feigned timidity when I spoke. "Mr. Langley, it's all my fault. I upset Mrs. Langley. Please, don't argue with her because of me."

Women possessed an exceptional knack for detecting sarcasm, especially when laced with false humility. My carefully crafted performance only served to inflame Michele's anger further.

With a sharp intake of breath, she spat, "Adrianna, shut up!"

Scott's face grew even colder, his disdain evident. "Michele, don't make me say it a third time. Apologize!"

Rage coursed through Michele's veins, but faced with Scott's stern, icy stare, she had no choice but to curb her anger reluctantly. With a forced lowering of her head, she muttered, "Adrianna, I'm sorry."

I peeked out from behind Scott's arm with an exaggerated gesture of meekness. "Oh no, Mrs. Langley, you don't need to apologize. It's my fault, all of it."

Her face hardened, her eyes turning into sharp daggers fixed on me.

"You can leave!" Scott commanded, his back turned to her in dismissal. His tone was frighteningly cold.

Michele's face twitched, her emotions a whirlwind of anger and restraint.

Remembering her true purpose for the visit, she managed to soften her expression. "Tomorrow," she began, her voice carefully steady, "there's a charity auction held by the city. All the major families will be attending. We've also received an invitation."

"It's at 8.30AM tomorrow," she added, her voice lower but firm, "Don't forget. We need to go together."

Despite the chill in their marriage, Michele was a woman driven by her vanity.

In public, she strived to maintain a facade of affection and harmony with Scott, which was why their appearance at the charity auction was essential.

"I understand," Scott replied after a pause, his tone calm and almost detached.

His willingness to cooperate was influenced by the opportunity to bolster his reputation among the upper-class society—an advantage he wouldn't easily dismiss.

Relieved by his compliance, Michele exhaled deeply. Before storming off, she shot one last venomous glare my way, her eyes sharp and filled with animosity.

I met her glare with a half-smile, feigning innocence. I had managed to make her reach the height of fury without even lifting a finger.

Thank goodness for Michele's timely intervention, which had distracted Scott from any lingering thoughts he might have held about me.

Though struck by a truck earlier, I emerged miraculously with only scrapes and bruises—a stroke of luck indeed.

The doctors monitored me for a few hours before they finally consented to my discharge.

Contrary to my expectations of being sent back to the employee dorms, Scott had other plans.

He instructed his driver to take me to one of his private villas, seeking to shield me from prying eyes as if I were some secret treasure he needed to protect.

…

As night enveloped the sky, Scott arrived at the villa.

I had just emerged from the shower, my long, jet-black hair still carrying droplets of water, my skin softer than usual.

The strap of my nightgown struggled to stay in place, occasionally slipping off my shoulder to reveal more than intended, exposing the curve of my collarbone.

There was a tinge of sadness etched on my face. This perfect blend of elegance and vulnerability was a combination holding a fatal allure for any man.

Seeing me in such a state, Scott visibly swallowed hard.

Without uttering a single word, he crossed the room and sat beside me on the couch.

He put an arm around my shoulders gently, and, in a very careful and soft voice, he asked, "What's wrong? You look upset."

I looked up at him with my clear, dark eyes and whispered, "Mr. Langley, I'm scared."