The General's Wife Wants to Leave-Chapter 279: Creeping night

In one room of the de Lara mansion, amidst the gradually creeping night, there were activities that still lit up behind the wall, seeming to be heated in intensity.

One person was sitting on the couch, polishing toenails with red color, while another person was sitting on the bed, swirling wine in the glass and looking at the person that was on the couch.

"You knew it really well that you don’t have much time left, didn’t you?" The person on the bed asked the person on the couch, whose head lowered and chin rested on the folded knee, focusing on painting the nails.

"Time is ticking by. Is it hard for you to understand that? How many times do I need to remind you about that?" The same person spoke again when receiving a silent answer from the other one, who seemed to find that making nails beautiful was more interesting than responding to the questions that echoed lightly in the room.

"I told you to seize any opportunity that was opened to you. But what result have you gotten up to now? Nothing!" said the same person in a hard tone yet below normal volume, as if being cautious of the walls that had ears and mouths.

"Don’t test my patience!"

Clank!

The same person threw a pillow at the person that did not utter a word even once during the talk, causing the small mortar of nail polish of a certain red flower that she had placed on the table near the couch to fall on the floor, splattering and tainting the white marble surface.

The silence fell heavily in the room after the clinking sound of the hard object falling stopped resonating across the cold night air.

Watching the nail polish drawn out of the nail line, then shifting to look at the red-colored liquid on the floor, the person on the couch put her bare feet on the chill floor and crouched down.

"Your action just now is not commendable," came a calm response from the person that previously sat on the couch. "Don’t let this happen again if you don’t want the reputation that you want to keep in a glory to be smeared," she added in a low voice while wiping the floor clean with a napkin that she had used to clean her fingers from the smeared nail polish.

"Learn to control your bad temper because if you fail..." The speaking person then stopped moving her hand that wiped the surface of the stained floor to then lift her head, directing her gaze on the older lady on the bed, who seemed to be in a rage—a contrasting demeanor to her calm composure. "Don’t you ever blame me for the fault that you did," she stated in a calm yet firm tone this time. Her eyes did not waver from the infuriated gaze that was sharply fixated on her.

Lowering her head again after she felt she had done enough to remind the other party, as she resumed wiping the floor, she spoke further, "He is way harder to approach than the saying. You know that well too. You even said that he is not like men in general. And she is always around him whenever he goes."

"Don’t make an excuse. She was at home the whole day," the older person retorted, only to be countered with, "But her husband was not." The younger person, who was none other than Valerie Preston, placed the fallen mortar that was fortunately not cracked back on the table after saying that.

"If you use your brain, such things are not problems. Whoever he is surrounded with, whether it is his sister or whoever, it is supposed to be not a problem," Valerie’s mother responded from the bed with her teeth gritting. "But what to say if your brain is too little to find a solution for such a trivial matter?" she sneered. "Otherwise, you wouldn’t have caused us to be in such a terrible and embarrassing situation!"

Another pillow was thrown, and it now hit the head of Valerie, who just stood as she had done cleaning the floor.

No sound fell in the room afterwards but the sound of crackling fire and the rapid breath of infuriated Camille Preston.

"I never asked you to get involved in such a situation. I asked you to let me do what I should do and not mess with my life." Valerie, who was hit with the pillow, replied in a flat tone, calmly bending down to take the pillow that fell on the marble floor. "It was you who was eager to make us be here, not me," she spoke more, maintaining her impassive tone. Her demeanor was calm, as if the rage of the older person, who had lost the smile on her face and glared at her sharply, was nothing to be paid attention to.

"But you agreed on that." Aunt Camille smirked, leaning back against the headboard while leisurely swirling the wine in the glass that was still held in her hand. "Don’t play victim when I am here to help you solve a problem that can’t be handled by you, a blockhead," she mocked, one corner of her lips curling up. Her eyes moved from looking at her expressionless daughter to the red liquid that swirled in the glass.

"Think of that well. Why did you agree to that? Why are we here? Do you think we would take a risk to be here if you didn’t agree in the first place?" Aunt Camille said, after gulping all the wine, to leave none in the glass.

"Because you gave me no choice," Valerie responded, hugging the pillow as she remained standing on her spot that was a few steps away from her mother. She was still calm, way too calm for a person who encountered such a highly emotional situation, even insulted by the woman that she called mother.

"No, you are wrong," her mother interjected. "Because you are aware that that bastard is ultimately useless. Deep down you realized how bleak your life would be if you lived with that bastard," she chimed in, putting the empty glass on the tableside before crossing her hands over her chest.

"And your small head knew that you were at a dead end. You would have no hope if you said no to my offer," Camille Preston continued to talk to the impassive Valerie. "So, now, instead of playing victim and blaming me, who has been generous enough to find a solution for your stupidity, you better come up with an efficient plan. He may be hard to tame, but he is a man after all. And it is something that your tiny head understands well, right? So use it better this time," she remarked sternly, glaring at Valerie.

On the other hand, Valerie stood unmoving while staring at her mother, who had fixed her body position to lie on the bed.

Her countenance was serene, as if not affected by all the insults that were thrown at her by her own mother. It was not something new after all. She got used to that.

But not long later, her demeanor shifted. Her gaze turned cold as she gripped the pillow that she had placed around her arms.