The Bride Behind the Mask

Chapter 887

The woman's voice was shrill and loud, echoing through the conference room until, within moments, everyone

had rushed out to see what the commotion was about.

"So you think you can just gang up on a woman because you've got numbers on your side?" she shouted. "Fine, |

won't stoop to your level, but you'd better get Marguerite out here this instant!"

There was something oddly familiar about her voice, Marguerite realized, although she couldn't quite place it.

And judging by the venom in the woman's tone, it was as if Marguerite had done her sunforgivable wrong.

Marguerite racked her brain, but honestly, she couldn't think of anyone she'd made an enemy of recently.

Who could it be? She was at a loss.

Meanwhile, Silas lounged lazily in his leather chair, idly twirling a pen between his long fingers, looking

completely at ease, almost amused by the chaos.

As Marguerite brushed past him, he shot her a sardonic look and muttered, "Well, looks like another debt

collector has cknocking."

Marguerite's steps faltered for a split second. She shot him a glare, but didn't bother to reply-she just hurried

from the room.

The hallway outside was crowded with onlookers. Marguerite couldn't immediately see who the woman was, but

she called out anyway, her voice steady, "Let her

go."

At her command, the staff instinctively stepped aside, clearing a path for Marguerite. She lifted her gaze—and

her heart skipped a beat. Standing there, disheveled and wild-eyed, was Daphne. Maurice's ex-wife.

No wonder her voice sounded familiar.

Daphne's hair was a mess-probably from tussling with security. She was wearing pajamas, not a trace of makeup

on her face. Marguerite clearly remembered how Daphne always favored heavy makeup and tic looks, her

striking features always perfectly accentuated. But now, barefaced, she appeared almost ordinary.

Marguerite motioned for the employees to return to the conference room, then slowly approached Daphne.

"You wanted to see me-"

Smack.

Before Marguerite could finish, Daphne's hand lashed out and delivered a stinging slap across her cheek, cutting

her off mid-sentence. Marguerite's face burned; she pressed her palm to her cheek in shock as Daphne jabbed a

finger in her face and shrieked,

"You're nothing but a curse, Marguerite! Maurice took a bullet for you-he risked his life! And what did you do? You

abandoned him at the hospital without a second thought! You heartless witch-you're exactly what that saying

means!"

Daphne raised her hand to strike again, but this time, a strong arm shot out and stopped her cold. Daphne

gasped in pain and staggered back. Marguerite looked up in surprise-it was Silas.

"And who are you?" Daphne spat, rubbing her arm.

Silas's voice was low and icy, brimming with anger. But Daphne didn't back down. She scoffed-and waved him

off. "Who am I? Why don't you ask Marguerite? I'm Maurice's wife!"

The answer clearly caught Silas off guard. He looked at Marguerite, his expression suddenly complicated. After a

pause, he shrugged. "Whatever. You two sort it out yourselves."

If Maurice already had a wife, why was Marguerite still involved? He didn't care to know the details.

Marguerite heard Silas's footsteps receding, but she knew he hadn't gone far.

Suddenly, Daphne grabbed Marguerite's wrist in a vise-like grip. "You're coming withto the hospital! Right

now! You're going to take care of him, do you hear me?"

She was hysterical, her shouts

ringing in Marguerite's ears. "Daphne, letgo! Let go!"

Marguerite struggled to free herself, but Daphne was surprisingly strong-Marguerite couldn't break free.

Just as Daphne was about to drag her away, Chuck arrived with a pair of security guards. They worked quickly to

separate the women, and the guards immediately moved to escort Daphne out.

Daphne fought back, kicking and swinging with wild abandon-gone was the poised, glamorous woman

Marguerite had once known. As the guards half- dragged her away, Daphne kept screaming,

"Marguerite! You're heartless! Absolutely heartless!"

One of Daphne's slippers was left

behind in the hallway, a pitiful

remnant of her frantic rush. She must have flown out of her house the moment she heard Maurice had been

shot, not even pausing to change out of her pajamas.

How much did she love Maurice? Enough to risk jail for him, enough to throw away her pride and chere,

begging another woman to care for him.

She's absolutely crazy, Marguerite thought. Completely unhinged.

Back in her office, Marguerite watched as Chuck quietly called off the rest of the meeting. Honestly, Daphne's

slap still stung—her jaw ached, and her gums felt sore.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror: five angry finger marks blazed red across her cheek.

Suddenly, an ice pack landed on her desk with a thunk. Marguerite looked up to see Silas watching her, his eyes

dark and unreadable.

"You once toldyou liked the thrill of stringing men along, the little ego boost it gave you..." he said quietly.

Marguerite stared at him, unsure what he was getting at. His gaze grew even more searching.

"I didn't believe you before," he said, voice tinged with disappointment. "But now? Looks like it's true after all."