The Seductive Pretty Boy of the Matriarchal World-Chapter 51: Unquenchable Fury

Chapter 51: Unquenchable Fury

Inside the upscale, dimly lit billiards lounge, Sloane Sinclair cradled a pool cue against her chest, letting out a massive yawn that left her eyes watery and half-lidded as she stared at the silver-haired girl standing by the table.

Giselle Frost wore a more casual outfit than usual—sleeves unbuttoned at the cuffs and rolled up to her forearms, revealing the smooth, pale skin beneath.

Compared to her usual pristine, untouchable presence on the Westbridge University campus, this version of Giselle carried less of that stiff formality and more of an effortless ease. The glacial aloofness that kept everyone at arm’s length seemed to melt away just a little, making her feel almost approachable, like someone you could actually reach out and touch.

Any guy catching sight of Giselle like this would probably summon courage they never knew they had and try striking up a conversation.

But Sloane Sinclair eyed the girl who looked more like a cool older sister and saw nothing but a debt collector showing up at her door demanding payment.

As Giselle leaned down, hips tilting back slightly into a flawless stance, and sank another perfect shot, Sloane’s patience snapped. "Hey, cut it out already. Let me take a turn."

Clack.

The ball dropped before she even finished speaking.

Finally, Sloane couldn’t hold back any longer. All the frustration she’d been bottling up since yesterday exploded out. "Enough is enough! You drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn just so I can watch you run the entire table?"

Anyone yanked awake from a deep sleep would be irritable. Especially when it seemed Giselle had only wanted her to unlock the billiards hall and had zero intention of letting her actually play.

Only Giselle Frost could get away with something like this. If it had been anyone else, Sloane would have already been tempted to swing the cue right at them.

Giselle remained silent. She slowly straightened from her bent position, chalking the tip of her cue with deliberate care. Without a word, she circled to the opposite side of the table, found a new angle, and bent low again, completely ignoring Sloane’s outburst.

Sloane’s mouth hung open for a second before she deflated like a punctured balloon. She stomped over to the nearby leather sofa and collapsed into it, sinking deep into the cushions with a dramatic sigh of surrender. "Fine, play. Play all you want. Clear the table already so we can move on to the next thing."

The story really started two nights ago. The Sinclair family owned the largest integrated adult entertainment complex on the planet. Every form of pleasure and thrill you could imagine—and plenty you couldn’t—was housed under one sprawling roof, all conveniently connected like some kind of decadent adult theme park.

The Frost and Sinclair families had long-standing business ties, and their relationship was solid. That meant their daughters—Giselle Frost and Sloane Sinclair—had grown up together as childhood friends, practically inseparable from a young age.

Thanks to Sloane, Giselle had experienced thrills most people could only dream of in a lifetime: high-speed racing, skydiving, bungee jumping, and every other adrenaline-pumping activity under the sun.

Nothing burned off dark emotions quite like tearing around a racetrack at full throttle for a few laps. Whatever was bothering you usually vanished in the rearview mirror.

So two nights earlier, Giselle had driven straight to Sloane’s place.

Even before spotting her, Sloane had recognized the telltale roar of the engine—sharp, aggressive, screaming that Giselle’s mood was anything but good.

And sure enough, the moment she laid eyes on her friend, Sloane knew she was staring at a walking, talking powder keg. One tiny spark and boom—explosion guaranteed.

Fortunately, Sloane had seen Giselle in this state plenty of times before. She didn’t freak out.

When Giselle showed up like this, it was almost always to vent. All Sloane had to do was stick around, let the Frost heiress burn through whatever was eating her up inside, and eventually things would settle.

This time, though, it caught Sloane off guard. Giselle seemed even more furious than usual. From the moment she arrived two nights ago until last night, a full twenty-four hours straight, she had torn through nearly every single facility in the complex. Sloane was exhausted just keeping up.

She had thought Giselle was finally done venting when she woke up this morning only to be dragged out of bed again. Clearly the fire was still raging.

Sloane had asked what happened, of course, but Giselle had clamped her mouth shut and refused to say a word.

Without any answers, Sloane had no choice but to keep playing along with the meltdown.

"Ah..." Another yawn escaped Sloane as she considered dozing off on the sofa for a few minutes. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Giselle’s phone screen suddenly light up on the table.

She wasn’t the type to snoop on anyone’s privacy, but boredom had her in a chokehold, and Giselle was clearly determined to clear the entire table by herself. Sloane had no choice but to sit and watch. Plus, after the way Giselle had put her through the wringer yesterday, she figured she deserved a little peek.

Giselle, right now...

Before Sloane could even make out the full message, another one popped up right after it: The night before last... it was my fault...

The night before last? Wasn’t that exactly when Giselle had shown up here in a furious rage?

"Huh?!" Sloane’s eyes flew wide open. Every trace of fatigue and drowsiness vanished in an instant. She sat up straighter, suddenly wide awake like she had discovered buried treasure.

It all clicked. No wonder Giselle wouldn’t say a word no matter how many times Sloane asked. The person who had pissed her off was a guy!

The apologetic tone screamed male.

It definitely wasn’t Lucien Hart—Giselle would never get angry at him. So it had to be someone else. What kind of man could melt this ice queen?

Sloane’s irritation and grumpiness evaporated completely. She snatched up the phone without hesitation, ready to dig into exactly what this mystery man had sent.

Just then, as if sensing the intrusion, Giselle—who had been mid-shot—abruptly stopped. She turned around, her eyes radiating pure frost, and said in a voice cold enough to freeze the air, "Put it down."

Sloane looked up in surprise. Normally, once Giselle started running the table, nothing could pull her out of that focused zone. Yet a few texts from some guy had yanked her right out of it.

Sloane’s curiosity spiked even higher, laced with a touch of payback for all the exhaustion. She grinned. "Some guy’s texting you. Let me check it out for you."

Giselle started walking toward her. Sloane jumped up and bolted, dodging while reading aloud: ...I’m really sorry.

But it’s not what you think. I can explain.

Your clothes are with me—they’ve been cleaned... Can we meet? I have something I want to tell you...

I’m waiting for you at the hotel... Fuck!

Sloane looked up in disbelief. "You actually slept with this guy..."

Before she could finish, a fist was hurtling straight toward her face.