Bride Behind The Mask (Frederick and Marguerite)

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Chapter 515

Manley’s sobs burst forth in a torrent, his small shoulders shaking uncontrollably as he repeatedly wiped his tears

with the sleeve

of his shirt.

Teresa stood by, her cheeks puffed with irritation. “Hmph! Considering how you fuss over Hayes, I thought you

might turn over a new leaf, but then you go and call my mom the villain! You’re the villain! You and your mom are

the real villains!”

Manley’s voice escalated into a full-blown tantrum, flailing as though he might throw himself on the floor in protest.

“My mom is not the villain! Your mom is the villain! She is!”

His voice was loud and shrill, cutting through the air until Frederick furrowed his brow and couldn’t help but bark out

in anger, “Manley Winston!”

Manley was instantly silenced, and he looked up, eyes wide in shock.

Frederick’s anger was terrifying, but Manley didn’t think he said anything untrue.

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Wasn’t it okay to speak the truth?

Marguerite could see Frederick’s chest rising and falling with barely contained fury, and she didn’t need to guess

how angry he

was.

Marguerite had long heard of Manley’s arrogance.

But back at the Winston Mansion, she had little to do with Manley and rarely saw his temper flare.

Now, witnessing it firsthand, she could see the rumors didn’t do justice to his outbursts. Manley’s temperament, to a

certain extent, was a product of Yuna’s nurturing.

She approached Frederick, her voice soft but with a polite distance. “May I have a word with him?” Frederick’s eyes

were stormy with anger, and he remained silent, neither consenting nor objecting. His own son wouldn’t listen to

him; what chance did Marguerite, a virtual stranger, have to sway Manley?

He was curious to see what this meddlesome woman could possibly do.

Marguerite moved forward anyway and slowly crouched beside Manley, smiling warmly at him. Manley froze.

When had Aunt Marguerite come in? Had she heard everything he just said? He was in big trouble!

She was such a meanie, surely she wouldn’t cut him any slack!

Manley nervously looked up at Marguerite, his earlier defiance vanishing, replaced by a hint of apprehension.

“Manley, do you think I’m a meanie?” Marguerite asked gently.

Manley’s eyes widened, and he nodded dumbly.

“Can you tell me why you think I’m a meanie?”

For a moment, Manley was at a loss.

He expected Marguerite to be cross with him, but instead, she spoke softly.

What was going on?

Mommy had warned him that Marguerite was fierce! Stay away, or she will smack you!

Manley stared at Marguerite, stammering and unable to articulate a reason.

Marguerite remained patient, moving a bit closer to him. “Manley, why do we have eyes?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard.

“To see things,” he mumbled.

“Exactly, to see people, see the world, and most importantly, to discern right from wrong. Sounds deceive, but if

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you see something with your own eyes, that’s the truth, right? Have you ever seen me do something mean?”

Do something mean? He indeed couldn’t recall ever witnessing such a thing. So Manley pouted and shook his head.

“Have I ever picked on you?” Marguerite continued.

Again, Manley shook his head.

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09:06

Marguerite smiled and asked, “Then how can I be a meanie?”

Manley looked at her, then glanced over at Hayes lying in the hospital bed not too far away.

“But you’re always with Hayes! Hayes is a little rascal, so you must be the big rascal!”

“But you didn’t want your mommy to draw blood from Hayes, which means you’re worried about him, right? If you

are so noble, why would you care about a little rascal? If you’re worried about a little rascal, then that would make

you a little rascal too.”

Manley’s eyes went wide, and he rushed to clear his name, “I’m not a little rascal!”

Marguerite humbled herself to his level, asking in a child-like tone, “Is Hayes then?”

Caught in Marguerite’s logic, Manley frowned, instinctively shaking his head. “No.”

“And what about me? Am I a rascal?” Marguerite’s eyes twinkled with hope as she looked at Manley expectantly.

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