Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 51: Chapter 51

I looked down and took my phone out of my pocket.
Only the ringtone remained in the silent air.
Arnold's deep eyes fixed intently on my face, not missing any expression, making the atmosphere increasingly tense.
Looking at the lit screen, I gently slid my finger and answered the call.
"Hello..."
Arnold looked down at his own phone—his call hadn't been answered yet.
But a voice was already coming through my phone.
At the same time, Clara also pulled out her vibrating phone from her bag and waved it at Arnold: "Sir, do you still doubt that I'm Elodie's mother?"
I saw Arnold's brow furrow slightly.
Clara decisively hung up the call, and Arnold's phone immediately rang with the message "The number you're calling is busy, please try again later."
He was indeed suspicious.
I could sense the coldness and doubt deep in his eyes.
He had too many reasons to be suspicious.
All the loopholes could collapse at any moment.
"Mr. Cavendish," Clara's voice carried anger, "Whether you believe it or not, I'll say it again—Elodie is my biological daughter, and she's always called me 'Mommy.' What exactly are you suspicious of? Do you think I'm a human trafficker?"
Arnold's thin lips pressed tightly together, his expression frighteningly dark.
"Thank you for your kindness and for taking care of Elodie today," Clara continued, "but please don't harbor unfounded suspicions about me anymore. I'm taking her home."
Elodie waved her little hand, saying goodbye obediently: "Goodbye Uncle Cavendish, goodbye Auntie."
I watched them leave, finally breathing a sigh of relief.
Fortunately, nothing was exposed.
Arnold didn't know that I actually had two phone numbers.
Before coming, we had prepared everything perfectly. I had switched the other number to Clara's phone in advance, just in case.
This time, I was cautious and escaped disaster.
I turned to look at him: "Do you have anything else? If not, I'm leaving."
But he said coldly: "Do you think this is over? Where do you think you're going?"
My temples throbbed, "What exactly do you want?"
He suddenly stood up and approached me in a few steps.
I stepped back, staring at him intently, "What are you doing? What do you want? Hey, you—"
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him.
Before I could struggle, his voice was as cold as ice: "Do you know that yesterday's incident cost ten million pounds in compensation alone?"
I stared wide-eyed: "...Ten million? Are you joking?"
"Reputation damage compensation, paid to the Hayes family." His eyes grew colder, "Do you think you can still stand here talking properly because I didn't handle the aftermath? Would the Hayes family let you go? Do you really think you can bully their heir casually?"
My eye twitched.
So it was that little bastard Rowan who caused trouble, and I had to pay for it?
"You!" I struggled to break free, but his other hand had already firmly embraced my waist, holding me tightly in his arms.
He raised his hand to grip the back of my head, "Then pay ten million now, or I'll hand you and the evidence over to the Hayes family."
I bit my lip, my eyes full of fear from his intimidation.
What was wrong with him?
"Ten million for one look, Paisley. I'm being very generous."
I trembled all over, my face pale.
But he showed no intention of stopping, his hand roughly tearing—
My clothes were ripped open.
My collarbone and right shoulder were completely exposed before him.
I could feel his gaze pause obviously when it fell on my shoulder.
There was nothing there.
That patch of fair skin was clean, without even a mole.
He was obviously disappointed, frowning, and wanted to check the other side.
My anger flared up, and I directly slapped him hard across the face.
"Slap!"
The room suddenly fell silent.
He was stunned.
My hand was still trembling.
My clothes were wrinkled, with half my shoulder exposed. I looked at him with red eyes: "Arnold! Do you even know what you're doing? Are you crazy?!"
His brow furrowed tightly, and for the first time, that cold, handsome face showed a trace of uncertainty.
He turned and walked to the desk, supporting himself with both hands on the edge, head down in silence.
His chest rose and fell unsteadily, as if trying hard to calm his emotions.
"I admit, I was indeed anxious today," Arnold said. "But anxious is anxious, angry is angry—I don't care, it doesn't matter. I just wanted to see your shoulder."
I pulled up my torn clothes to cover myself, furious and nearly suffocating with anger.
I had already cursed his ancestors eighteen generations over in my mind and turned to open the door and leave.
But he spoke again: "I didn't say you could go."
I stopped, gritting my teeth as I turned back: "If you dare touch me again, I'll call the police."
He stared at me indifferently: "We're husband and wife. Even if I sleep with you, calling the police won't help."
I took a breath, so angry my voice trembled: "Have you no shame?"
He slowly turned his face toward me, saying softly: "You've already hit me, and you still care about that?"
He raised an eyebrow slightly and actually asked me: "Will you undress, or shall I do it?"