Chapter 461 Raised a Bloodsucker

• Angela felt like throwing up. Good thing she hadn’t eaten much breakfast, or it would all be on the floor. If Conrad Heathcliff were ever getting all touchy-feely with some other woman behind her back, she’d block him for life. No parole. Emma’s face went green under her mask, her fingers shaking with rage. Angela took her hand, steadying her. She’d secretly recorded everything Michelle just said. Right then, a well-heeled lady walked in. The brunette sales clerk’s eyes lit up. “My client.” She rushed over. Michelle shot her a nasty look. Whatever. Once she married into the “rich crowd,” she’d quit and play rich wife. Then she’d come back and buy every bag in the place. Emma saw the lady pick up a bag to look at, so she picked one up too. Michelle spotted it and strode over, frowning. Two broke nobodies coming in to window-shop was one thing—but touching the merch? “I already said it. These are high-value items. No touching.” Emma let out a cold hum. “She can touch it. Why can’t I?” Michelle rolled her eyes with pure contempt. “She’s one of our regulars. Are you? Can you even afford it? If you smudge it, how’s anyone else supposed to buy it?” Angela stayed cool, her tone slow and even. “Where’s your manager? If your store really has a rule that only regular customers can try bags and new customers can’t, we’ll apologize right now. If not, you owe us an apology.” Apologize? Dream on. Michelle’s eyes dripped disdain. She snorted. “The manager’s not here. Walk five hundred meters up the street and you’ll hit a strip of low-cost shops. The bags there suit bottom-tier consumers. Do us a favor and head that way. Don’t let the door hit you.” She was still talking when Andrian Banner showed up. His office building was close by—otherwise he wouldn’t even know Michelle. Seeing him, Michelle stopped bothering with Angela and Emma. She swayed her hips and sashayed over. “Honey, you’re here?” Andrian slipped an arm around her waist and planted a kiss without a care. “Babe, what did you need?” Michelle pouted, lips cherry-red. “Month’s almost over. I haven’t hit my numbers. Help me out?” Andrian squeezed her waist. “How much are you short?” “75 thousand,” Michelle said. Andrian nearly bled out inside. He didn’t have 75 grand. He was behind on several credit cards as it was. “These are women’s things. Why would I buy them? You don’t even need more. Should I pick some out for the old ball-and-chain at home?” Emma was about to faint from fury, her body shaking. Angela wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her over to the sofa. She knew exactly how Emma felt. Back when she saw that bed video of Conrad and Jenna Young, rage burned through her, her heart about to explode, reason slipping, every nerve twitching. Even now, thinking about it left a bitter taste, the anger still simmering. Michelle turned away from Andrian, annoyed. “It’s only 75 grand. Not that much.” Andrian rubbed her head. “My little dummy, seriously? Even if you hit your numbers, you’ll get, what, a few thousand in commission? If I just hand you 75 grand to spend, isn’t that way better?” Michelle heard that and spun back, palm out. “Then give it to me. Send it on WhatsApp.” Andrian hadn’t expected her to be that blunt. He looked awkward, scrambling for a response, when Angela’s voice cut in from the side. “Figures the side chick only loves cash. The wife at home does everything—works outside, keeps the house running, raises the kids—while the husband bankrolls a bloodsucker on the side. Think hard: how many times can she drain you with the little blood you’ve got?”