The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 885

All those names that used to text him constantly.

Mrs. Judson, Ms. Larson, Mrs. Watson...

He tapped through them one by one. The receiver either returned a harsh busy signal or rang endlessly into an agonizing void.

The contacts that had once flooded his phone with praise and affection had all turned into dead ends.

Why wasn't anyone answering?

Why?!

It had to be Winifred. It just had to be!

Clive used to entertain the women in Winifred's inner circle. If she had put the word out, it made perfect sense that they had all coordinated to block him.

He seethed with hatred as the realization washed over him.

As for why they wouldn't answer? That was simple.

Winifred and her clique had ruined him. They were probably terrified he would come after them, so blocking him was the easiest way to wash their hands of the mess.

He hurled his phone against the mattress, his chest heaving violently. The memory of his final, vicious fight with Winifred flashed before his eyes.

Her condescending, mocking smile was burned into his brain.

Stripped of her elegant facade, she had looked utterly repulsive, her voice dripping with cruel amusement.

She had looked down at him like he was dirt on her shoe.

"Clive, you need proof before you start throwing accusations. You sleep around, catch a disease, and try to pin it on us? It was just a game, did you actually take it seriously?"

"Take a good look at your status."

What status? Right, what exactly was he?

He was nothing but a shiny new toy for bored, wealthy wives. A piece of meat to keep them entertained.

Summoned when they were lonely, and tossed out like yesterday's trash the second they were bored—without so much as an explanation.

Thinking of Winifred's smug face, Clive was hit with a wave of sickening despair.

The women naturally paused, their eyes drifting toward the glowing screen.

They were all close friends, and unprompted calls during their private time were rare.

Mrs. Watson raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk on her lips. "Well, your phone's been buzzing for a while now. Why aren't you answering?"

"Don't tell me your new boy toy is checking up on you?"

Winifred reached over lazily and grabbed the phone. Glancing at the screen, a look of undisguised contempt curled her lips. She carelessly flipped the phone around so everyone could see.

The name "Clive Sloan" was flashing on the screen.

"Who else would it be?"

"Just that ghost of a man, Clive."

She drew the words out, her eyes flashing with sheer annoyance.

With a casual swipe of her thumb, she rejected the call, switched the phone to silent, and tossed it face-down onto the sofa, acting as if she had just touched something contaminated.