His Perfect Wife Strikes Back

180 Ｍy Stepbrother

"Can I help you?" I looked at his wheelchair as it approached the car.

"I just want to take a ride," he said, opening the door and climbing swiftly from his wheelchair into the car seat.

"Please put my wheelchair in the trunk of the car. Thank you," he said from the back seat to me standing outside. "Press the red button and the wheelchair will automatically be folded."

I don't know how to refuse his easy-going attitude. Through the glass, he kept urging me, "Hurry up!"

So I reluctantly moved the wheelchair into the trunk of the car according to his request. When I sat in the passenger seat, he could not wait to say to the driver, "Go to the starry sky bar."

The driver started the car at once, and I happened to see two servants running out of the manor as if they were looking for something.

"They're looking for you, aren't they?" I looked sideways at Iverson.

"Those two fucking idiots wanted to send me back to the sanitarium," Iverson said unhappily. "I told them I needed some free time. They didn't listen."

"So you're sneaking out?" I said. "Looks like we should turn around in time."

I have no duty to aid Iverson in escaping, and I don't want to get into any trouble right now. In the manor, he left a horrible impression on me. Even though he is Mickle's child, he is so distant from everyone in the family that he appears to enjoy the chaos.

I recall him as a gloating bystander.

"Please don't," Iverson said. "I can't bear to go back to that manor."

"Or we could just go to that place you were talking about," I asked. "What sanitarium is that?"

"Hey, I thought you were different from them." Iverson tried to negotiate with me. "How about we make a deal? I'll buy you a drink, and you promise not to let those idiots at the manor know where I am."

"But I'm not interested in drinking," I said firmly.

"Are you interested in Margaret?" He kept me in suspense, "I can tell that she doesn't like you and your sisters. It just so happens that I have something about her. As long as you send me to the bar, I'm willing to share her little secrets with you."

"Deal."

I wasn't really interested in Margaret's secret, but I knew I couldn't talk too much about the Blandon family in the car. To prevent the driver from selling our conversation to the reporter as gossip, I paid the driver double the fee when I got out of the car, and I took down his name and license number.

Iverson wheeled himself into the pub like a bird that had just been let out of its cage. Before I could take a seat, the waiter had already given him a martini after he quickly managed to pick a suitable location.

"What would you like to drink?" Iverson looked up at me. "I'm sorry, but I didn't know what kind of wine you like, so I had the waiter order you a glass of lemonade. This one's on me."

"That's very generous of you," I said sarcastically.

"Sit down." Iverson patted the seat next to him. "Have a drink with me."

Then a bearded man came up to him and said, "Hey, Jason, long time no see. Is this your new girl?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mario!" Iverson explained. "She's the child of my father and an outside woman. Technically, she's my legal sister."

"Can I hit on her?" The man named Mario looked me up and down. "Good-looking face."

"Get off," Iverson snapped. "Wait until your dick is as long as mine."

"Luckily, my dick isn't as limp as your legs," Mario says, taking a business card from his pocket and stuffing it into my hand.

"You can call me anytime. I'm sure I can make a difference."

"I don't need it." I threw the card into the trash can next to him in front of him.

Iverson laughed, and when Mario had gone, he said to me, "Come and sit down, my sister."

"First, don't call my sister," I said to him seriously. "Second, don't call my mother a woman outside in front of me. If I hear you disrespect my mother again, I will kick you."

"I'm sorry, it's my fault," Iverson said. "Now we're okay, right?"

I looked around and saw that the bar was lower than I had expected. There were still grease stains on the table, and a struggling ant was floating on the Lemonade Cup in front of me. The strippers on the catwalk move their bodies lazily, and the bartenders at the bar mix drinks and flirt with the women sitting across from them.

This bar's atmosphere is quite filthy, yet Iverson fits it perfectly.

I had no idea that the son of a future president would be so keen to hang out in a place like this. He watched the dancers on the stage with great interest and even picked up a nut on the table and threw it at them. The woman who was hit was angry at first, but when she found out that Iverson was behind it, she didn't get angry but kept winking at him.

"Eva, give Bobo some money," Iverson said.

"Excuse me." I stared at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Give her some money for her hard work," Iverson said. "I know you have money."

"You can use your own money," I said angrily, "Or you can crawl over to her with it in your mouth."

"I forgot my money," Iverson said calmly, "So you'll have to pay for it."

"That's enough," I said angrily. "I don't want to waste my time here with you. I'm leaving."

I'm really fed up with this lying man. So what if he's my legal brother? He's just a scoundrel.

"Wait, you haven't heard my little secret about Margaret."

"I'm not interested," I said. "Here's $50 for the lemonade, for God's sake."

I said, took out $50 from my wallet, put it on the table, and left the bar without looking back. I ignored Iverson yelling my name behind me. I couldn't stay in this hellhole for another second.

I went home, took a shower, and had a sandwich for dinner. Just as I was about to lie on the couch and watch TV, my phone rang.

"Hey, this is Eva."

"Hello, this is the starry sky bar," a man's voice said over the phone. "Are you Jason's sister?"

"I'm not. Don't call me."

"Wait, Jason is drunk. He needs you. Maybe you should talk to him."

After a second, Iverson's voice at the other end of the phone shouted. I could not hear clearly and hung up the phone directly.

"What's the matter, baby?" Frade asked, looking a little tired, as he returned home. "Who's calling you?"

"It's Jason. No, it's Iverson," I said. "My half-brother, he got drunk at the bar."

"Can I help you?"

I wanted to say no, but after two seconds of hesitation, I said, "Yes."

"Give me the address. Will you come with me?"

"Okay," I said.