Chapter 298: Chapter 295: Just Because You’re My Woman (8)
Carol Young shook him awake and demanded, "I’ve been calling you for days, but your phone’s been off. What’s going on?"
Marlon Marshall had lost money gambling last night and was in a foul mood. He slapped her hard across the face. "Are you fucking asking for a beating? I’ll turn my phone off whenever I damn well please. Who are you to question me?"
Carol Young was stunned.
When she recovered, she started to sob. "Why did you hit me? I was only asking."
Marlon Marshall lay back down, his eyes closed. "What do you want from me?"
"Marlon, are you breaking up with me?"
"What is it already!"
"I’m out of money." With that one sentence, she made it clear she was there to ask for cash.
"What’s you being out of money got to do with me? I’m not made of money. Ever since I got with you, you’ve basically ruined my life! If it weren’t for you, would I have gotten divorced? And you still have the nerve to ask me for money? Who am I supposed to go to for cash?!"
Carol Young retorted, "How can you blame me? You’re the one who wanted to be with me."
"Well, now I don’t want to be with you anymore. So, you can get the hell out."
He said irritably.
’So easy for him to say. Just one sentence, and he tells me to get lost.’
Carol Young froze, finding it hard to accept.
"Marlon, you’re telling me to get out?"
"You’re not deaf, are you? Now, get out, get out, get out!"
She stopped crying. "Fine. You want me to get out? Then pay me five million in compensation for my wasted youth!"
Marlon Marshall’s eyes snapped open. He glared at her, his face a mask of viciousness. "Five million? You’ve got a lot of nerve. Don’t push it. You keep running your mouth, and I’ll fucking kill you. You believe me?"
Carol Young’s face paled. Seeing his expression, she had no choice but to believe him. Her tone softened. "Drake, please, just give me some money. For old times’ sake, please?"
He sat up, his eyes narrowing. "You want money?"
She nodded.
"How about earning some money on the side? I’ll make sure you’re never short on cash."
Carol Young knew exactly what he meant. She looked at him. "Where?"
He sneered. "Anywhere you want. But it’s an eighty-twenty split. I get eighty percent."
’Carol Young was no fool. She’d be doing all the work while he pocketed the cash. It was a terrible deal.’
"I won’t do it."
Marlon Marshall snorted. "If you won’t do it, then fine. Get out, and don’t ever let me see you again."
Carol Young stood up and left.
In truth, Marlon Marshall was nearly broke himself. The money from selling his car had been squandered in no time at all.
He had hoped to win it all back through gambling, but instead, he only sank deeper into debt until he had gambled everything away.
Now, he was like a stray dog with no home to return to.
After a moment’s thought, he turned his phone on. A flood of text messages came through, all of them from Mrs. Young.
Marlon Marshall considered for a moment, then texted her back: *Do you have any money? It’s an emergency.*
Mrs. Young replied: *A little.*
She agreed, telling him to come pick it up in person.
Marlon Marshall got up, let out a cold smirk, and headed for the Young family’s apartment building.
The moment he walked in, he demanded, "Where’s the money?"
"Didn’t you say the hotel and supermarket we invested in are under construction? Take me to see them."
He held out his hand. "Give me the money first. I’ll come back in a few days to take you."
Mrs. Young fell for it again, giving him her bank card and PIN.
He then left.
And just like that, she was alone again in the empty room.
The happiness her family of four once had was long gone.
*
The sky was overcast, and the sun remained hidden even as noon approached.
A damp chill filled the city air.
Mrs. Grant called Quentin Grant home for lunch, and Jean Grant came as well, bringing Nicholas Ainsworth with her.
Quentin Grant was taken aback when he saw Jean with Nicholas Ainsworth. No one had told him about them, and he wasn’t one to keep up with the news.
"He’s my boyfriend, Quentin."
Quentin Grant shot Nicholas Ainsworth a look. "This is the guy who went streaking through a hotel?"
Quentin had happened to see it when Nicholas was chasing after Nora Ainsworth.
Nicholas Ainsworth looked a little embarrassed. "It wasn’t streaking. I was wearing... something."
Quentin Grant snorted. "You call underwear clothes?"
Jean Grant brushed it off. "Quentin, what’s the big deal? It’s not like I don’t have my own past—I’m divorced, remember? As long as he treats me well from now on, I don’t mind."
’Since Jean herself had said so, Quentin, as her brother, didn’t feel like pressing the issue.’
"It’s your business if you don’t mind," he said. "But let me give you a piece of advice: don’t make another bad choice in men and drag yourself into a living hell."
Jean Grant got a little angry. "Quentin, can’t you just wish the best for me for once?"
"I am your brother. Of course I want what’s best for you. But I seriously question your judgment."
Mrs. Grant stepped in to mediate. "That’s enough, Quentin. If Jean is happy with him, then let her be. It’s her choice, and she’ll have to live with the consequences, good or bad."
Jean Grant nodded. "Exactly. I’ll take responsibility for my own happiness. Besides, Quentin, you’re one to talk. You’re so stubborn. You’re still hung up on Nora Ainsworth, and you haven’t even seen her in ages. What’s she doing abroad, anyway?"
"Why are you so concerned with other people’s business? Just worry about yourself." Quentin Grant clearly didn’t want to discuss Nora Ainsworth with his family. ’He knew that if his mother found out about Nora’s past illness, her personality was such that she would never allow him to marry her.’
Throughout the exchange, Nicholas Ainsworth remained silent.
After leaving the Grant residence, Jean Grant walked down the street with her arm linked through Nicholas Ainsworth’s. "Don’t pay any attention to what my brother said. But speaking of which, when exactly did he see you streaking in a hotel?"
Nicholas Ainsworth clearly didn’t want to talk about it. "It was a long time ago, I’ve almost forgotten about it. Can we just drop it?"
Jean Grant chuckled. "Alright."
But a moment later, her smile froze. Marlon Marshall was following them.
She stiffly turned her head forward again, her grip on Nicholas Ainsworth’s arm tightening unconsciously.
Her heart hammered in her chest.
’This constant feeling of being threatened was terrifying.’
Her phone rang. Guessing it was him, she didn’t dare to answer.
Nicholas Ainsworth helpfully pointed out, "Jean, your phone’s ringing."
"It’s nothing," she said. "Just a spam call. I don’t want to get it."
They walked for a little longer before he smiled. "Are you tired? Should we get a cab?"
"Okay."
He hailed a taxi. After he saw her safely to the entrance of her upscale apartment complex, he got back in the cab and left.
Jean Grant immediately pulled out her phone. A dozen missed calls and several text messages.
They were from Marlon Marshall.
She called him back. He picked up almost immediately.
"Marlon, what do you want?"
"Not much. Just get me a million, and I’ll leave you in peace for a while."
’Jean Grant knew this was just the beginning.’
’He was a bottomless pit. Once he burned through this million, he’d be back for more.’
’It would be a vicious cycle, with no end in sight.’
’The plan forming in her mind screamed at her to act quickly.’
"And how long will a million last you?"
"I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to give me a few million more," Marlon Marshall said, pressing his advantage.
"Let’s do this," Jean Grant said, cutting to the chase. "Just tell me. How much will it take for you to stop for good?"
