Ensnared by Mafia, Days and Nights

The startling revelation made those people dash away in a panic, covering over ten meters.

"Absolutely useless! I sent you to extract money from her, and instead, you've managed to lose the house!"

Fiona hissed between clenched teeth; her eyes boring into Clark.

Frustration was palpable as Clark threw up his hands. "How is this my fault? You're the one who has been incessantly provoking Giselle."

"Enough!" Cynthia shouted, clearly overwhelmed by annoyance. "We've already lost our home and you're still bickering? Really shows how idle you are!"

Turning to Cynthia, a cunning idea sparked in Fiona's mind. She grabbed Cynthia's arm and hissed, "No clue what sordid tricks Giselle used to worm her way into his bed. But once the young master grows tired of her, he'll surely look for a replacement. Perhaps..."

Her eyes glittered with a devious gleam. "We could send our dear Cynthia to his bed. Even if it's just for one night, it could net us a substantial fortune." Clark's mouth twitched, clearly tempted by the prospect.

Seizing the moment, Fiona pressed on. "Although Cynthia isn't your flesh and blood, she's a grateful girl who would surely repay your kindness."

At the pinnacle of society, a man like Henry Jefferson could inadvertently provide enough wealth to sustain others in comfort through his mere leftovers.

Clark tilted his head, considering her point. Giselle had always kept her distance from him, ever since she was little.

Now, having ascended socially, her first act was to evict them from the villa.

Such ingratitude!

If Cynthia could leverage Giselle's position to get close to the young master, Giselle would finally prove useful.

He observed Cynthia closely, noting how her physique resembled Giselle's.

As the thought formed, another idea struck him-maybe it was best to remove Giselle from the picture first, then strategically position Cynthia beside the young master.

A classic bait-and-switch, and if necessary, Cynthia could even drug him. Once it was confirmed they had been intimate, regardless of the circumstances, they could claim Cynthia was pregnant.

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Carrying the young master's child would elevate her status immensely.

Mulling over these plans, Clark concluded, "It could work, but first, we need to familiarize ourselves with Giselle's daily habits."

Resolved, Fiona spared no expense and hired a private detective to map out Giselle's class schedule and frequent locations within a week.

To their dismay, they soon realized that Giselle hardly ventured beyond LaRocque Manor and her school.

She was always personally escorted by Henry, leaving no room for intervention.

On Friday afternoon, aiming to perfect her end-of-term performance, Giselle and her dance instructor lingered in the studio. She preemptively texted Henry to explain. Caught up in an urgent matter, Henry couldn't wait any longer. He left a car for her at the entrance and took off.

After the instructor had left, Giselle practiced the moves once more as she had been taught before wearily heading to the changing room.

By that time, it was completely dark, and the changing room was deserted.

As Giselle opened the door, attempting to feel for the light switch using the dim light from the corridor, her arm was suddenly grasped, and she was yanked into the room. Sensing immediate danger, she instinctively tried to call out for help but was quickly muffled by a handkerchief clamped over her mouth.

Overwhelmed by a pungent odor, her body weakened, and before she could hold her breath, her mind fogged over, and she lost consciousness.

The driver waited anxiously at the school gates. Miss Lambert had promised she'd be only half an hour.

After an extended wait, he finally caught sight of her.

However, something seemed off.

Rubbing his eyes, he noticed the figure wore Miss Lambert's clothes and carried her bag and hairstyle, but appeared somewhat bulkier.

As Giselle neared, the driver squinted to get a better look, but she quickly hopped into the car, slamming the door shut, leaving him no time for further inspection.

He must have been mistaken, the driver thought, rubbing his eyes once more as he started the car.