Betrayed by the Father Reborn in His Rival's Arms novel Chapter 185

Madeline froze, taking a long moment to process his words through her hazy mind. She was utterly shocked that Quentin already knew what had happened. She had worried about how she was going to explain the chaotic situation in her current state.

But Quentin already knew everything.

"It was Eleanor Prescott," she answered.

"Understood," Quentin said simply. He pulled out his phone.

"Did you pinpoint the coordinates for the jade mine the old relic bought in Guatemala?" he asked the person on the other end.

After a brief pause, he issued a chilling order. "Blow it up."

Ending the call, Quentin turned his dark gaze back to Madeline. "Feeling a little better?" he asked softly.

Madeline was stunned. She never expected him to unleash such catastrophic fury over a single slap.

He had just ordered the destruction of his own grandmother's multi-million dollar jade operation without blinking.

More importantly, he hadn't referred to Eleanor as his grandmother—he had called her an "old relic" with pure venom in his voice. Did Quentin have absolutely no familial love for the woman? Were they enemies?

Madeline calculated the odds in her head. This dynamic worked perfectly in her favor.

She was going to make sure everyone who had wronged her paid the ultimate price!

"Get some sleep," Quentin said, pocketing his phone. "I'll leave you to rest."

"Don't go," Madeline blurted out.

She was testing the waters, realizing he wasn't the emotionless machine the rumors painted him out to be.

On the surface, Quentin was terrifying, as cold and impenetrable as an iceberg. But Madeline was starting to see the man beneath the ice.

He treated her incredibly well.

During her recovery, he had specially flown in her favorite foods and showered her with priceless jewelry and designer wardrobes. She found herself genuinely starting to fall for him.

"Really?" Madeline asked, her eyes lighting up. "Is the view nice?"

"It's beautiful," Quentin replied.

Knowing he would be permanently settling down locally was a massive advantage. If she could secure his heart, there was nothing she couldn't achieve.

Emboldened by this realization, Madeline took his hand and guided it to her waist, silently urging him to hold her.

He didn't resist. His large palm rested against her side.

His fingers gently traced her curves.

The adrenaline from their earlier kiss made her bold. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his once more.

It was a tentative, testing kiss—just a soft brush of lips, tasting faintly of the metallic tang of dried blood.

This time, he didn't grip her throat. He had found a much better way to claim her: by holding her waist. She was incredibly supple, perfectly fitting into his large hands. He didn't use bruising force this time; his touch was more practiced, trailing smoothly along her skin.