The Rejected Principessa Returns novel Chapter 110

Chapter 14

“Children?” Adrian laughed bitterly, his eyes burning with madness and despair. “Then from now on, they’re not mine! I have no children. None of you have anything to do with me anymore!”

He seemed to have made up his mind.

Ignoring Celeste’s crying and pleas, he dragged her up and drove straight back to the Prescott estate.

Mr. and Mrs. Prescott had barely recovered from the panic of possibly losing their partnership with the Sloane Group when their son burst in, dragging a tearful Celeste behind him.

Adrian threw her to the floor in front of his parents. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse and trembling with a wild, reckless fury.

“Dad! Mom! You’ve heard the news-Sienna is the sole heir of the Sloane family! Now the choice is yours. Will you keep protecting this woman who gave you your so-called heir, but made me lose Sienna forever? Or

you want the Prescott family’s future-the only chance I have left to make things right with her?!”

do

Mr. and Mrs. Prescott froze, exchanging uneasy glances filled with hesitation and calculation.

Adrian pointed to the trembling woman on the floor, his tone like ice.

“If you still want the Sloanes as allies, if you still want the Prescotts to climb higher, then cut ties with her completely. Handle her yourselves. The children-we don’t need them.”

“Adrian! How can you be so heartless? Those are your children!” Mrs. Prescott gasped, her voice shaking.

But Mr. Prescott gritted his teeth. A sharp glint flashed in his eyes as he barked, “Fine! We’ll do as you say! The Prescotts will sever all ties with the Harringtons. As for the children… our family never acknowledged

them!”

Celeste stared at them, stunned.

She looked from the cold faces of Adrian’s parents to his own merciless expression, her world collapsing.

“No! You can’t do this! I gave birth to your children! You promised me!”

Mrs. Prescott had already regained her composure.

For the sake of family interest, she stepped forward, ripped the jade bracelet from Celeste’s neck-the very one she had once placed there herself as a symbol of approval-and snapped coldly, “Get out! From this moment on, you have nothing to do with the Prescott family or with Adrian. The children are not ours. Deal with them yourself.”

Just then, Mr. Prescott’s phone rang. His face darkened even more as he ended the call.

He looked at Celeste coldly. “I just got word. The Harringtons’ biggest project was taken over by Sloane Group. Their funds have collapsed, and they’ve declared bankruptcy. Your parents are looking for you everywhere-they said it’s your fault for offending the Sloane heiress. You’ve brought ruin upon your own

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family, you curse of misfortune!”

The double blow left Celeste completely broken.

She ran out of the Prescott estate like a madwoman, only to find there was nowhere left for her to go.

Her parents slammed the door in her face, cursing her as the cause of their downfall, shoving her to the ground.

Her clothes were soaked and torn, her hair tangled, her eyes vacant.

She wandered the streets aimlessly, surrounded by glittering lights and cold laughter. Her sanity finally shattered-she cried and laughed at once, lost to madness.

As for Adrian, even after cutting all ties, he felt no relief. Instead, an even deeper emptiness and despair consumed him.

He found out where the Sloane manor was located and drove there without hesitation.

It stood halfway up a mountain, a secluded estate guarded like a fortress.

He knelt before the heavy iron gates, letting the cold rain soak through his clothes.

“Si… Sienna! I was wrong! Please, just see me once! Sienna!”

The rain blurred his vision, but it could not wash away the agony that tore through his chest.

Inside the manor, Sienna stood by the window, wrapped in a soft cashmere shawl, a cup of hot tea in her

hand.

She watched the kneeling figure outside, her gaze calm and indifferent, as though watching a distant, silent play.

The butler stood behind her respectfully.

“Miss Sloane, Mr. Prescott has been kneeling for three hours. The rain is heavy. Should we-”

Sienna gently blew across the tea’s surface, her tone cool and detached.

“If he wants to humiliate hiself, let him. Don’t interfere.”

By dawn, Adrian finally collapsed from exhaustion and fever, his body falling limp into the cold rain.

When Sienna was informed, she only cast a faint glance toward the window and said, “Send him back. Leave

him at the Prescott gates. And tell them to keep their people away from my sight.”

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Hundreds of eyes turned to the scene.

Adrian’s hair was disheveled, his suit wrinkled, his face pale and trembling. He stared at her as if she were the last breath of air in a drowning world.

“Sienna… it’s really you? Please, let me explain-it was all a misunderstanding, I—”

He reached out, trembling, trying to grasp her hand as if it could save him from falling apart.

But the moment he reached for her, her gaze turned glacial.

Sienna’s hand withdrew swiftly, folding neatly in her lap, avoiding his touch with quiet finality.

Her eyes were cold as frost, her voice sharp and steady through the microphone.

“Mr. Prescott,” she said, each syllable clear, echoing through the hall, “please mind yourself. You’ve broken quite a few things here-are we… even acquainted?”

The ice in her tone pierced him straight through the chest. He took a shaky breath, desperate.

“Sienna, I know I was wrong! I’ll pay for everything-whatever it costs, I’ll pay! But I can’t stand here and

watch you choose someone else! I’ll lose my mind! You found out everything, didn’t you? That’s why you left! I didn’t know who you really were-those words I said, I-”

“You didn’t know my identity?”

Her voice sliced through his. The faint curve of her lips carried a cold, biting irony.

“So, Mr. Prescott’s love depends on who the woman is?”

“Because I’m Sienna Sloane, the heiress of the Sloane family, only now am I worthy of your remorse? Only now do I deserve your desperate performance of guilt and redemption?”

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze cutting like glass, each word hitting with surgical precision.

“Tell me, if I were still that ‘slum girl’ you once pitied-the one with a drunk father, a sick mother, and a

rundown home-would I still deserve your love?”

“Or would you again leave me bleeding, have my blood drained to save another woman’s child, watch me whipped and humiliated, and tell me I should be grateful to be your hidden… caged songbird?”

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