Chapter 391: Reciting Shakespeare to a donkey
Aidan turned his head sharply, the leather seat creaking with the motion. His brown eyes bore into the girl in the backseat. For the last few minutes, she had stayed stiff and silent, as though hoping he would not press further. He wasn’t in the mood to be ignored. His patience wore thin. "Miss," he said, his voice snapping with command, "I asked you a question!"
The sound made Micah’s mind snap back to the present. His throat went dry but he forced his tongue across his lips, moistening them before speaking. "Mister, I still don’t understand what you are talking about." His voice trembled slightly, acting like a timid, frightened girl.
His lashes lowered just slightly beneath his glasses, hiding his true goal. He was stalling the time long enough for either Clyde finding his whereabouts, or making Aidan doubt himself, thinking he had mistaken him for someone else.
Aidan, oblivious to Micah’s plan, insisted on selling himself as a respectable, upright man.
"I know you might not trust us," he said, leaning back against the passenger seat, head tilted to the ceiling. He softened his tone intentionally. "But I am indebted to that young man. If he is in trouble, I can help him. So tell me the truth. That La Riviere’s president..." his lips curled, a spark of disgust flashing in his eyes. "Is he using you as a punching bag? I heard he is a beast, but to do this.... Tsk. What a lowlife."
Hearing the first half of Aidan’s words, Micah frowned. What exactly had he done to make Aidan, this greedy scrooge, feel indebted to him? Just paying the repair fee? Or those small chats when he was lonely? Nope. Nothing came to mind.
Then the last part reached his ears. What the fuck?
Micah gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached, dissing the man in his head. Who the hell was he to call Clyde a Beast?! Ha? Fucking bastard. Clyde was a saint, an angel compared to this scum.
Aidan’s eyes sharpened, catching the flicker in the girl’s eyes, the flash of defiance. He smirked faintly, lips curling with satisfaction. Oh. So there was fire left in her after all. Not all broken dolls remained lifeless. Good. He could use that fire. Twist it, predict it, and perhaps send it back to his rival, making trouble for that Du Pont guy. She hated his guts it seemed. "So?" he pressed, his voice cutting through the silence, demanding more.
Micah drew in a shallow breath. His fingers twisted into the fabric of his skirt, nails digging into it. "I just have his WeChat account," he murmured.
Aidan’s eyes gleamed. "Good. Text him right now."
"I don’t have my phone," Micah replied, his gaze flickering aside.
"That’s easy," Aidan said with infuriating calm. He turned his head toward Alex. "Buy a phone for Miss. She can use it to contact us too."
Alex gave a stiff nod, no words, eyes locked on the road ahead.
Micah felt annoyed. What was this man scheming this time? Huh? At one point he was luring Ramsy’s heir to an auction, baiting traps for who-knows-what purpose, and on the other hand he was kidnapping the La Riviere president’s supposed companion, demanding she contact him.
Was he crazy? Why would anyone willingly stay in touch with their kidnapper? This was driving him mad.
Fortunately, his panic attack, the one that crippled him at the party last night didn’t return this time. If he had fallen into a fit, Aidan might have sensed something was wrong with him or perhaps noticed he was cross-dressing.
Micah tilted his head slightly. Maybe the fear had dulled? Maybe seeing Aidan for the second time had numbed the shock? Maybe he was getting used to it?
Either way, it was in his favour.
Alex pulled over the car toward the curb. He got out and disappeared down the block in search of a phone store.
Silence fell into the car.
Micah’s fingers crawled on the door, inching cautiously along the panel, searching for the handle. His breath caught, heart pounding as he brushed metal. He was ready to jump out of the car the moment he could fling it open. But before he could act, Aidan turned around all of a sudden. "What’s your name?"
Micah froze. Slowly, he turned his head, fighting to keep his panic hidden. "Asena," he replied.
"How do you meet him?" Aidan gazed at him with scrutiny.
Micah’s eyelid twitched in irritation. For God’s sake, Aidan, this lunatic, didn’t even know his name, the guy who had been chatting with him, and yet had the gall to be obsessed enough to drag people off the street? His facial muscles twitched as he tried not to sneer at him.
"Online," he replied.
"So, you’re never seen his face?" Aidan’s voice brightened visibly.
"No," Micah shook his head, thinking this man was hopeless. He swore he saw a flash of jealousy in Aidan’s eyes before the man realised he wasn’t close to his online buddy.
Aidan shifted lazily in his seat, stretching his legs. His finger drummed on the console between the seats, expression thoughtful. "Are you still not saying anything about that man you were with? What holds does he have on you?"
Micah fumbled with his skirt. "I think you might be misunderstanding something. He is not what you think," he said softly.
Aidan snorted. "You poor thing. Love has rotted your mind. Can’t see the reality, huh?"
"I’m telling the truth."
But Aidan wasn’t listening. He turned his head to face him, voice hardening, his tone almost cruel. "I have to hand it to him. He gave you just enough stick and carrot, turning you delusional enough to defend him. Miss, look at the mirror, look at this ugly bruise." He gestured toward her face, his gaze lingering on the purple and blue patch. "Tell me he is a decent fellow."
"I told you it wasn’t him. It was a random stranger!" Micah snapped before he could hold his temper back.
"Of course, he won’t dirty his own hands." Aidan let out a low sarcastic laugh, shaking his head as though his naivety was hopeless.
Micah shut his mouth and turned his head away. Talking with this man was pointless, like screaming at a wall, or reciting Shakespeare to a donkey. He would never believe him. Was Clyde’s reputation truly so terrible? Like Willow mentioned? For Aidan, of all people, to look down at Clyde?