The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 477

The check landed lightly in his palm, yet it felt heavy enough to crush the last shred of Clive’s dignity. He stared at the string of zeros, his fingertips trembling uncontrollably.

Ten million. Just like that?

He remembered when his momentum in the entertainment industry was at its peak. He had once filmed an action sequence where a wire malfunction caused him to fall and break two ribs, yet his pay for that entire project had only been eight million.

There were times he had gone three days without sleep to make scheduled appearances, performing on stage with a fever of 102 degrees, only to take home two million after the company took their cut.

And now... he had simply sung a song. Ten million, easily obtained.

Clive suddenly wanted to laugh. He thought about how high-and-mighty he had once been. If he had known taking this step was so easy, he wouldn’t have stubbornly fought against Luke for so long, burning through years of friendship in the process. Now that he had offended everyone at the agency, his only lifeline was tethered to Winifred.

Seeing Clive fall silent, Winifred poured herself another glass of wine. The scarlet liquid coated the glass in a thick, sticky sheen. She narrowed her eyes, assessing him like a newly purchased luxury handbag.

“What? Think it’s too little? Don’t want it?” Winifred’s voice was raspy, laced with teasing.

Clive snapped back to reality, gripping the check tight. He shook his head. “...No.”

He heard his own voice, and it sounded terrifyingly unfamiliar—docile, ingratiating, even carrying a hint of fawning servility.

Winifred smiled in satisfaction, her fleshy hand patting his face. “Good. If you serve me well, paying off that debt is just around the corner. Don’t you think?”

The second check. Another ten million.

Clive stayed at Winifred’s house for two hours and earned twenty million. When he walked out of the villa, the night wind slashed against his face, cold as a knife.

Clive stood on the steps, looking down at the two checks in his hand, and suddenly began to laugh low in his throat.

The laughter was hoarse, squeezed painfully from his chest. When he came here today, he had prepared for the worst. He had even thought that if Winifred tried to force him, he would tear up the contract and leave. But he hadn’t expected her to be so... “understanding.”

Clive curled his lip in self-mockery. Two songs for twenty million. What a bargain. Selling a smile was better than selling his body, wasn’t it?