Their Queen's Back - Chapter 69: Chapter 69

Under the watchful eyes of everyone, Emily strode briskly toward Claire, her burning gaze locked on the other girl's back.
Emily dragged Claire by the hand into a corner. "What are you doing here!" she demanded.
And she had to say it so loudly.
Claire looked at Emily's pouting face, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she raised an eyebrow. Extending her hand, she said, "I'm here for my present—so, where is it?"
Claire muttered to herself, "Don't tell me you forgot about our promise yesterday!"
"Was I really the only one who stayed up all night, too excited to sleep, just waiting for this?" Claire wondered.
Emily batted Claire's hand away with a slight pout, her voice tinged with embarrassment.
"What's the rush?" Emily shot back. "It's in my backpack. You'll get it after school."
Claire pouted and insisted, "I don't care. I want it now, Emily! You promised to give it to me this morning. I even came to school extra early just to wait for you, but you still showed up late!"
Guilt flickered in Emily's eyes, and an unnatural expression flashed across her face.
"It was so cozy sleeping with Skye last night," Emily thought.
The quilt was filled with her sweet scent—so comforting that I couldn't bear to get up. That's why I was almost late, I thought to myself.
"What are you talking about! You'll get it in a minute," she shot back.
"Emily, don't tell me you forgot to get me a gift!" Claire crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, sizing up the girl in front of her.
"I did prepare it!" Emily blurted out defensively.
Those were the candies Skye gave me just yesterday. I could hardly bear to eat more than a couple myself.
Claire urged, "Hand it over then."
"I'll go get it," Emily said, spinning on her heel and heading back into the classroom. She rummaged through her backpack, pulled out ten candies, and handed them to Claire.
Emily lowered her gaze, her long lashes veiling the awkwardness in her eyes.
"Here... your gift," she mumbled.
Claire took the candies from Emily's hand. "These are so pretty!" she exclaimed, admiring the uniquely creative wrappers.
Claire said, "Here's my gift for you. I made these cookies myself."
"Here," Claire said, handing Emily a small box. "I woke up at 5 a.m. to bake these—this batch turned out the best."
Emily took the box and opened it. The rich, milky aroma of the cookies wafted up to greet her. "Mmm," she murmured appreciatively, a shy smile tugging at her lips.
After exchanging gifts, the bell rang for class and they headed back to their respective classrooms. Claire unwrapped one of the candies Emily had given her and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes lit up.
Claire thought to herself, "I assumed the candies Emily gave me were just ordinary store-bought ones, but they're actually incredibly delicious!"
Claire thought to herself, *I'll have my butler get me some of these candies too.*
Megan noticed Claire collecting the homework, a faint smile playing on her lips—quite unusual for the normally stern class monitor.
Megan smiled knowingly and asked sincerely, "Class Monitor, you seem to be in an unusually good mood today."
Claire usually carried herself with the stern demeanor of a homeroom teacher in class, making her current cheerful expression all the more rare.
In a rare move, Claire uncharacteristically granted the students who hadn't finished their homework a few extra minutes to catch up on their assignments.
Claire was about to greet Megan cordially when she suddenly remembered the love letter incident. "That letter was clearly Megan's doing—so why did she frame Emily and make her take the blame?" Claire wondered.
Claire wasn't the type to keep things bottled up or let her imagination run wild. She confronted Megan bluntly, "Megan, you wrote that love letter to Jason last time."
She wasn't asking—it was a definite statement.
Megan's smile froze, then vanished, her tone turning stiff.
Megan stiffened slightly and said, "Class Monitor, what are you talking about? I honestly don't understand."
Claire fixed her gaze on Megan, whose eyes darted around guiltily. "Megan, I saw everything last time. You did it on purpose, didn't you? You wanted to humiliate Emily. I even read that love letter—you forged Emily's handwriting. Why would you do something so malicious?"
Megan never imagined that something she thought was buried for good would come back to haunt her.
Megan thought bitterly, 'Just my luck!'
"Class Monitor," Megan said stiffly, "I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. Class is starting—you should be collecting the homework right now."
Claire glanced at the time, let out a reluctant sigh, and stepped back from Megan's desk.
That afternoon, Megan heard from Emily's classmate that Claire had approached Emily that morning.
Megan clenched the hem of her shirt, her mind flooded with images of Emily betraying her—cozying up to Claire instead.
Megan thought bitterly, "Emily, you backstabbing little bitch."
At dismissal, Megan stormed over to confront Emily. She gave Emily a hard shove, nearly knocking her to the ground.
"Mag, what's gotten into you?" Emily exclaimed, startled.
Megan was beside herself with rage, her sharp, narrow eyes blazing with hatred and jealousy.
Megan snapped, "Emily! How could you blab about our secret? Didn't you promise me you'd never tell anyone? And here I thought you were loyal, but you're just a shameless, backstabbing snake. I'm done with you for good!"
Completely bewildered, Emily frowned and asked, "Mag, what on earth are you talking about? I can't make sense of anything you're saying. Did you get something wrong?"
Megan's resentment grew fiercer the more she thought about it, her bitterness becoming unbearable.
How come Emily gets such an amazing biological sister? After that whole mess last time, she still ended up looking righteous! Megan thought bitterly.
Megan snapped, "Emily! You promised you'd never tell a soul about that letter I wrote to Jason—so how did Claire find out? Admit it—you're just mocking me because my family's poor and can't compare to the mighty Hughes!"
Emily immediately shook her head emphatically. "No! I didn't! I swear, I didn't tell anyone!"
Not even to Skye did I mention Megan's name.
Megan's eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at Emily with a pitiful, pleading gaze. "Emily, I really want to believe it wasn't you," she said in a trembling voice, "but Claire swore up and down that you told her I wrote that letter. She even embarrassed me in front of the whole class, saying all sorts of terrible things about me..."
Emily stood frozen, her beautiful peach-blossom eyes flickering with disbelief. "Did Claire really say that?" she thought.
But she doesn't seem like the type to do that, Emily thought.
"No, Mag! You must be mistaken—I never told Claire anything about you," Emily protested, feeling wronged.
Megan demanded, "Did Claire come looking for you this morning?"
Emily nodded, a bit puzzled. "Yeah, so what?"
Megan snapped, "Exactly! Claire said you told her yourself this morning that you've wanted to ditch me as a friend for ages—that you look down on trash like me!"
Emily protested, "I didn't say that! We hardly talked at all!"
Emily exclaimed in shock, feeling like a false accusation had just been slapped on her out of nowhere.
Still reeling from shock and disbelief, Emily failed to notice the fleeting glint of triumph in Megan's eyes.
Megan was about to say more when she suddenly noticed Claire standing behind them, filming everything with her phone.
Megan's face went pale with shock. "You... what are you doing?!" she stammered.
Claire strode over confidently. "Come on! Why stop now, Megan? Let's see how far you'll go to smear me. Go ahead, keep spinning your wild tales—I'm all ears."
Emily was utterly confused. "What on earth is going on?" she wondered.
Standing beside Emily, Claire gave her a gentle smile. "Silly girl, you don't even realize you've been played. Let me show you the truth."
Megan's face turned deathly pale as she recoiled in fear.
"Claire! You... How long have you been standing there?" Megan stammered, her face paling. "Emily, let's just talk tomorrow, okay? I... I gotta go."
Megan tried to bolt, but Claire seized her wrist in an iron grip.
"Ow! Claire, you're hurting me! What are you doing?!" Megan cried out in pain.
Claire warned coldly, "Take one step today and you'll regret it."
Claire couldn't believe how shameless Megan was—making up lies and pinning false charges on her without a second thought.
Megan pleaded, her voice trembling, "Claire, why are you treating me this way? I know you're the Quinns' young mistress, and I'm just a nobody. If you want to target me, I won't resist—hit me, curse me, do whatever you want, I won't complain. But please, I beg you, don't drag my parents into this. They're just ordinary folks, not like your privileged family."
Claire cut her off with a raised hand. "Stop. Don't play that card with me. Straight talk—why drag your parents into this? Did they really put you up to this stunt today?"
Megan's face twisted in anger. "You!"
That day, Emily finally saw her long-time friend Megan for who she truly was.
The sky was a dull, lifeless gray. Heavy clouds hung overhead, not a single ray of light breaking through.
Emily stood rooted to the spot, dazed. Claire lingered a short distance away, lips parting as if to speak—yet she held back, never taking that step forward.
She needed to face the truth on her own.
But then she thought, "It's not like I'm only friends with her. Why should I let this bother me?"
"At least there's still Claire," I consoled myself.
Come on, I've got the looks, the figure, and the family background—the young mistress of the Quinns, the second most prominent family among the Top Five Enterprises in Capital City. I'm ranked fifth in the whole grade and serve as the class president of Class 1. How could I possibly be inferior to someone as hypocritical and pretentious as Megan?
Seriously? She's snubbing a walking main character like me?
Miss Claire, the young master is here. He requests that you get in the car immediately.
Claire cast a reluctant glance at Emily—her signature cowlick drooped listlessly, and the usual sparkle had faded from her peach-blossom eyes.
The butler came to pick up Emily. Halfway through the ride, she suddenly demanded to get out. The butler hesitated, but had no choice but to pull over.
Emily turned to the butler and said quietly, "I'd like to take a walk by myself for a while."
"Miss Emily, but..." the butler hesitated.
Emily strode off resolutely.
Skye returned to Culture Street once again. One of her men reported anxiously, "Ms. Sky, we've failed you. We know Miss Charlotte is somewhere around here, but we just can't find her. Her counter-surveillance skills are remarkable—last time, we only found her because she chose to reveal herself..."
Rowan appeared with a lollipop in his mouth. Spotting Skye, he swiftly popped it out and flicked it straight into the trash can without missing a beat.
Rowan said solemnly, "Ms. Sky, here's the information I've gathered. Some of it has been deliberately concealed—it'll take a bit more time to uncover the rest."
Skye took the file and glanced at the first line: Charlotte, 22 years old.
The words "problem girl" burned into her eyes—smoking, fighting, defying teachers, expelled from school.
Just a few lines, and it felt like a sharp pain shot through her chest.
When Skye left, Charlotte was twelve. By fifteen, she had left home herself—and all these years, she's been the only Hughes who has never once set foot in the family household.
What on earth happened during those three years at home!
"She's clearly avoiding us. Let's go."
Skye cast a cool, detached glance over the graffiti-covered walls, then turned on her heel and walked away.
Skye thought, "Charlotte, you know I've come back, yet you still refuse to see me, isn't that right?"
"Maybe you hate me, Charlotte."
A boy hidden in the shadows watched as Skye and her crew left, then trotted back quickly.
He dashed up the stairs, slipped into the room, and said breathlessly to the girl inside, "Charlotte, they're gone."
The girl didn't turn around. Her gray hoodie was pulled up over her head, long, slender legs catching the sunset light. Her slim figure was half-lost in the deep crimson and gold glow. A cigarette butt slipped from her fingers—crushed under her black Dr. Martens without a second thought.
"Got it," Charlotte replied.
Sophia had just stepped out of the office building when someone blocked her path. She looked up—and all the color instantly drained from her face, leaving her deathly pale.
It's him!
John leered at her with a greasy smile. "Sophia, long time no see. Still remember your Uncle John?"
It's been years, and this girl just keeps getting prettier. Look at that sweet little face—makes a man want to do all sorts of things.
As John reached out to grab Sophia, she flinched back on instinct—a wave of painful memories surged up, making her heart race.
Linda's cousin, John Collins.
"That bastard who once tried to force himself on me," she thought, her mind filled with disgust.
"John, what the hell do you want?" Sophia snapped. "Let me make one thing clear—I'm not afraid of you anymore."
With that, Sophia bolted toward a deserted alley.
"Sophia dear, don't run away! Uncle John just wants to 'catch up' with you—wait for me!"
Sensing someone closing in behind her, Sophia flashed a wicked smile—all traces of fear vanished from her eyes, replaced by pure exhilaration.
Leading him into a secluded corner, Sophia turned around, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she looked at him.
"John, what do you want from me?" Sophia cried out, her voice trembling. "I'm warning you—if you dare come any closer, I'll call the cops!"
John let out a sleazy chuckle. "Sophia, have you forgotten your dear 'Uncle John'? Just wanted to 'catch up'—it's been ages, hasn't it? My sister's even been trying to set us up. How... thrilling is that?" He laughed darkly.
John's eyes gleamed with perverse excitement as he swaggered closer, shoulders hunched and head cocked. He spread his arms wide, baring his yellowed teeth in a grotesque grin.
John leered, "Sophia, it's been so long. Missed your dear Uncle John? How about we pick up where we left off with that special little game we played back then, hmm?"
With her hand clenched tightly around the pepper spray canister behind her back, Sophia waited. The instant John stepped closer, she abruptly raised her arm and blasted a direct stream of pepper spray into his eyes.
John let out a blood-curdling scream, his eyes searing with pain so intense he couldn't open them. "Sophia, you little bitch! What the hell did you just spray in my face?!"
Furious and humiliated, John reached out to grab Sophia.
Sophia stashed the spray, snatched up a brick, and drove it straight into John's kneecap with a sickening crack.
"Ahhh!"
Another blood-curdling scream tore from John's throat as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his leg and howling curses.
John roared, "Sophia! Sophia! Do you have a death wish? How dare you do this to me!"
Sophia spotted a water hose nearby, yanked it over, and began spraying John without mercy. Lauren had warned her—this pepper spray's effects would intensify with water. John felt as if his eyes and face were being scorched by fire.
The pain cut to the bone—so excruciating he wished he were dead.
Sophia sneered, "Enjoying the taste, John? Let's 'catch up' properly—it's been way too long, hasn't it?"
Sophia's eyes gleamed with obsessive malice as she licked her rosy lips. "If John had met the me from just a month ago," she thought coldly, "the one lying on the ground wouldn't be him—it would be me."
Too bad.
"Sophia, what the hell are you trying to pull, you bitch? I only regret not having my way with you back then—would've made you beg for death."
Knowing that, as a girl, she was vulnerable to verbal taunts, John continued to hurl vulgar insults at her.
John sneered, "Sophia, you'd just turned eighteen that year, right? I remember ripping your clothes off with my own hands—right there in your bedroom. The way you kept screaming and crying... God, that was such a turn-on."
Sophia's eyes burned with fury as she fixed John with a murderous glare.
'Some people are just revolting,' she thought, bile rising in her throat.
With a sickening crack, the bottle smashed against John's skull. "Run!" Emily grabbed Sophia's wrist and yanked her toward the exit.
Just as Sophia was about to pull a knife from her bag, CRACK!—someone smashed a bottle over John's head.
Sophia was still frozen in shock when Emily grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the alley.
"It's her!" Sophia thought.
After they left, Skye and Lauren arrived at the scene.
Both Sophia and Emily had bodyguards protecting them, so their safety wasn't a concern. When Ms. Sky saw Miss Sophia leading the man in here, she had already guessed exactly what Sophia was planning.
Have the bodyguards stand by.
Skye stood over the man Emily had smashed with a bottle, her gaze cold and detached.
Her icy, detached gaze held a mix of appreciation and dark amusement—as if she were observing a fascinating specimen.
Skye extended her hand, and Lauren swiftly placed the dagger in her palm without a moment's hesitation.
In one swift motion, the blade came down. The man on the ground convulsed as Lauren crushed his mouth underfoot, silencing him completely.
A single drop of blood rolled off the tip of the blade, landing beside Skye's blue stilettos. The azure hem of her dress fluttered as she strode away, leaving the scene behind.
Blood pooled beneath the man's lower body, slowly seeping into the grayish-brown ground—like a crimson spider lily blooming in decay.