Chapter 222: How Dare You Plot Against Me!

Zachary had planned everything meticulously. He knew Vincent wouldn't resist the temptation of a rare vintage Bordeaux, especially in the current circumstances. A good bottle of wine was the perfect icebreaker for what Vincent had in mind.

Sure enough, the moment Vincent heard about the complimentary bottle of century-old Bordeaux, he opened the door without hesitation. “Come in,” he said, stepping aside.

Claire overheard the exchange and immediately suspected it was Vincent’s doing. She had anticipated something like this on her way over and already had her defenses in place. Her solution was simple—she wouldn’t touch anything edible or drinkable.

What she didn’t realize, however, was that Zachary’s scheme wasn’t about the wine. And Vincent hadn’t ordered it either.

“Ms. Prescott, care for a glass?” Vincent asked, uncorking the wine as soon as the server left. He poured himself a generous amount and gestured for her to join him.

“No, thank you, Mr. Patterson,” Claire replied smoothly, offering an excuse. “I’m slightly allergic to alcohol.”

Vincent’s smirk faltered briefly, replaced by a hint of impatience. “Ms. Prescott, don’t be such a buzzkill. I’ve already made myself clear. The ball’s in your court now.” His arrogance filled the room as he drained his glass in one gulp.

“Mr. Patterson,” Claire said, lowering her head as if in despair. Her voice trembled as she continued, “Is this really the only way? Do I have no other choice? I’m in a difficult situation right now… I desperately need this job. Please, I’m begging you—give me a chance.”

Following her plan, Claire began to feign tears, her shoulders shaking as she pretended to wipe her face.

“Oh, come on now,” Vincent said, feigning concern but with an unmistakable glint of triumph in his eyes. “Why are you doing this? You’re breaking my heart. I can’t stand to see a pretty girl cry.”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “There, there. Don’t cry. I promise to take good care of you. I’m not the kind of man who doesn’t take responsibility. After tonight, you’ll be my sweetheart, my little darling.”

His tone turned oily, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Whatever you want, I’ll buy it for you. But first, you have to take good care of me tonight.”

As Vincent leaned in, Claire recoiled sharply. “Ah! No. Mr. Patterson, please,” she pleaded, her voice rising as she backed away. “I’m begging you—don’t do this. I’m not the kind of woman you think I am.”

Feigning panic, Claire flailed her arms, scratching and clawing at random. “Ahhh!” Vincent yelped as her nails raked across his face, leaving a long, angry gash that stung sharply.

Claire’s nails weren’t just a defense—they were part of her plan. The mark was both evidence and a calculated way to enrage Vincent.

“You worthless little wench! Who do you think you are, laying hands on me like that?” Vincent snarled, his face contorted with rage. “Still think you’re the Prescott family’s precious little princess, don’t you? You’re nothing now—just a disgraced fake heiress who hit rock bottom, got locked up, and has nowhere else to go. All those years of acting high and mighty in the Prescott family, huh? Well, today, I’ll teach you a lesson about obedience!”

Vincent stormed forward, grabbing Claire by the hair and slapping her hard across the face. But instead of breaking down, Claire smiled. Her plan was working.

Taking the stinging blow, she waited for the perfect moment. Then, without warning, she swung back, slapping Vincent across the face with all her strength. The force of her retaliation left his ears ringing.

For a moment, Vincent was stunned—he hadn’t expected this. Women in situations like this usually crumbled under his aggression, eventually submitting to his every whim. But Claire? She was different. Vincent’s shock quickly turned to fury, and he raised his hand to strike again.

Claire, however, wasn’t fazed. She smirked coldly, pulling a small recording device from her pocket. “Vincent, did you really think you could get away with this forever? Everything you’ve done tonight has been recorded. The scratches on your face? More evidence. If I go to the police now, you’re done.”

“You conniving little-!” Vincent’s rage boiled over as he realized he’d been played. He lunged for the recorder, his teeth clenched in frustration.

“Go ahead and take it,” Claire said evenly, standing her ground. “It won’t matter. The recording’s already been uploaded to the cloud through my phone.”

Vincent snatched the device and hurled it to the ground, shattering it into pieces. His chest heaved as he glared at her, fists clenched in helpless rage. “Fine. What do you want?”

Claire chuckled softly. “I don’t—” she began, but her words faltered as dizziness washed over her. Her legs wobbled, and she instinctively grabbed the edge of the nearby table for support.

It was then she noticed the faint smoke curling from the incense that had been burning behind the wine. “You…” she gasped, her voice weak as realization struck.