The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 917

Maeve even found it amusing. "Well, Winifred is always a step ahead of everyone else."

Having run in Winifred's circles for years, Maeve knew exactly how she operated.

The second she heard the platform intervened, she knew Winifred was the one pulling the strings.

"Looks like the kid is officially out of options. Nobody is coming to save him."

"But seriously, Winifred, I still think you should keep your guard up. The little pop star is harmless, but his older brother, Josiah, is a shark."

"I heard the second he found out, he was tearing up the hospital, desperately calling every connection he had to bury the news."

"Just be careful. You don't want to trip at the finish line."

It wouldn't just be Winifred going down; if she sank, the rest of them would be pulled into the undertow.

Winifred smirked, an amused glint in her eyes. "Josiah?"

"He's just a somewhat clever businessman. The Sloan family empire is already bankrupt. He can't make any real waves by himself."

Winifred casually traced the rim of her warm cup. "Let him throw his little tantrums. It's the perfect opportunity for him to realize exactly what kind of trash he's trying to protect. It'll teach him what he can touch, and what will burn him. Actions have consequences."

Her tone was light, dismissing the threat entirely.

For Winifred, if she was bold enough to play the game, she wasn't afraid of the fallout.

However, despite her arrogant dismissal, her actions proved she never left loose ends.

"Oh, right," Winifred said, looking up at Louise. "What's the status on his father?"

She was going to make sure this discarded pawn vanished quietly, without leaving a single speck of dirt on her designer shoes.

Winifred's ruthless efficiency betrayed absolutely no trace that Clive had once been her favorite late-night entertainment.

Maeve and Louise exchanged a subtle, knowing glance. They both saw the exact same fear and respect for Winifred's brutality reflected in each other's eyes.

The pot began to hiss softly as the water boiled.

Winifred elegantly picked up the iron handle, pouring fresh coffee for the three of them. Her movements were fluid and perfectly practiced.

Surrounded by the curling steam, she softly changed the subject to their art portfolio investments for the next quarter. It was as if their discussion of a man's ruined life was just a trivial footnote, already completely forgotten.

Clive's fate had been sealed the moment he stepped into their world—or rather, the exact second he outlived his usefulness.