A Caged Songbird's Escape: Into the Arms of a Predator novel Chapter 300

“……”

From the perspective of death, with such abysmal technique.

All things considered, at least Max looked decent in the photo.

-

Murphy Manor.

The moment Marcia stepped inside, she was hit by a suffocating sense of gloom.

Or maybe, death itself.

That old witch from the Murphy family had rung her at the crack of dawn, shrill and insistent, summoning her as if she were calling the undertaker.

For all the world, it felt like she was being summoned to a funeral.

No sooner had Marcia set foot in the drawing room than a teacup came hurtling toward her.

She never expected the old woman—surely past menopause by a decade or two—to still have such a temper. She didn’t even manage to dodge; the cup struck her square in the face.

Scalding tea poured down her skin, stinging her cheeks and dripping even from her nose, where a few soggy tea leaves clung.

Marcia bit back a scream, her face throbbing from the heat and pain.

“It’s that hard to come when I call you?”

Matriarch Paige Murphy’s voice was as cold and sharp as a whip, and at once, Marcia swallowed every retort.

Even if she had to grit her teeth until they broke, she’d swallow her own blood rather than answer back.

Wiping the damp leaves from her face, Marcia forced a deep breath and stepped forward, trying for a contrite smile. “Matriarch Murphy, the butler only just called, and I left right away. It’s just—traffic’s a nightmare at this hour. That’s why I was a little late.”

“Enough.”

Matriarch Paige Murphy saw right through her. With a chilling laugh, she cut her off. “I didn’t call you here to listen to your excuses. I hear you and your little research team have produced nothing for weeks?”

They were close—very close—to a breakthrough.

Matriarch Paige Murphy’s brows knit together, suspicion flaring in her eyes. “And where did you hear that?”

Even Karol had been thrown out of the company by Rowan, that ungrateful brat. Yet somehow, Marcia still had her ear to the ground, still knew what was going on in the heart of the research division.

“Does it matter where I heard it?” Marcia smiled faintly. “The only thing you need to know is, I’ll do exactly what I promised you. No half measures.”

—To steal every bit of progress Elissa had slaved over for the past year.

As for whether she’d hand it over to this venomous old hag or sell it to someone else—that depended entirely on her mood.

Matriarch Paige Murphy’s gaze was sharp and measuring. Finally, her eyes narrowed. “You’d better deliver. If you don’t, just wait and see if the Atwater family is willing to protect you.”

The look in her eyes sent a chill straight down Marcia’s spine.

She knew perfectly well: to the Atwaters, who mattered more—a disgraced Mrs. Spencer like her, or their relationship with the Murphys?