The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 916

In that agonizing moment, Clive finally tasted the crushing, inescapable weight of real capital and absolute power.

Winifred hadn't just abandoned him. She had systematically suffocated every single avenue he had to fight back.

He didn't even have the privilege of dragging them down to hell with him.

Clive tried again and again, completely manic, watching his posts get instantly scrubbed or his burner accounts get banned. Eventually, his phone—already severely damaged—flickered one last time before dying completely, sinking into an endless, unyielding black screen.

Shortly after Clive's phone died.

On the other side of the city, the atmosphere couldn't have been more different.

Inside an ultra-exclusive suite, fragrant incense curled through the air, and an elegant cast-iron pot bubbled softly.

Winifred Lawson, dressed flawlessly in a vintage emerald-green dress, elegantly picked up her cup, gently blowing the steam away.

Maeve Larson, who was supposedly "in a very important meeting," was entirely relaxed.

Sitting directly across from Winifred, Maeve lazily scrolled through her phone before letting out an amused snort. She turned her screen around.

"Winifred, look at this. Isn't this that little pop star you used to keep around?"

"The boy is trending."

Displayed on the screen were the paparazzi shots of Clive looking pathetic outside the hospital. The hashtag #Clive Sloan HIV had a glaring dark red "HOT" tag slapped next to it.

Winifred didn't even bother lifting her eyes. She reacted as if she were reading about a minor traffic delay. "I saw this coming a mile away."

"With the way he acted, it was only a matter of time before he blew himself up."

Clive had always been arrogant. Even when he was crawling into Winifred's bed, he rarely bothered to hide his bratty temper.

Honestly, if he hadn't possessed such a pretty face and some residual public value, Winifred would never have wasted a second indulging his ego.

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