Chapter 932:
“I didn’t… I’m sorry…” Lorraine stammered, her voice trembling as she dabbed at the sheen of sweat on her brow. In the movement, she made sure to expose her arm, where an angry red mark stood out clearly—a mark she had inflicted upon herself with a hard pinch.
She wore the role of the victim well, letting the suggestive mark speak louder than any words.
The guests’ eyes shifted toward Christina, now holding an even sharper edge of disdain. Still, none of them dared to voice their thoughts. She was not a woman to be trifled with—and there was always the possibility that Dylan might take her side. Perhaps she was only parading her arrogance because she’d shared a dance with him.
Christina paid no mind to the judgment in the gathered guests’ stares. She turned—and found herself caught in the path of a familiar, icy gaze.
“What happened?” Dylan’s voice was cool, his eyes sweeping over the scene with measured severity.
The crowd instinctively parted to make way for Dylan, their uncertainty plain in the way they glanced at one another before fixing their attention on him in uneasy silence.
Dylan carried himself with effortless dominance, the kind born of both power and refinement—a magnetic presence that drew the eye without trying.
Lorraine, still lying on the floor, had counted on the guests’ wild speculation to fan the rumors against Christina. But she hadn’t expected Dylan to approach on his own accord. Her face paled, and she wavered between sitting up or remaining where she was.
Lorraine clutched her stomach harder, teeth gritted, wishing she could simply pass out and escape the moment entirely. If she had known Dylan would walk over, she never would have put on this performance. Now regret burned bitterly in her chest. She had thought she could get away with her charade, never imagining that Christina would prove so unyielding and wouldn’t soften a bit. Her plan backfired, and now she didn’t know what her next move would be.
𝙈𝙞𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙩: ⲅ𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝗍𝖊𝗅𝘀⸱𝖼𝗈𝗆
Christina glanced at the guests who had been gossiping with gusto but now fell silent, and a sardonic smile tugged at her lips. Of course, they’d shut their mouths now—offending Dylan was something they wouldn’t dare risk. This was the way of the world.
“Mr. Scott, I’d like you to see that justice is served,” Christina said evenly, her eyes locked on his.
A ripple of quiet gasps moved through the guests. Her composure stunned them—not only was she unafraid of Dylan, but her presence seemed to match his in weight. Who exactly was she? Even if she were favored by him, this wasn’t how a woman in her position should act. She ought to soften her tone and speak with deference.
Yet, here Christina stood, speaking to Dylan as though they were equals, even with an air that threatened to eclipse his own. The guests couldn’t help but wonder if she was more prestigious than Dylan.
“Go ahead,” Dylan said, his tone as cold as ever. He gave no sign of familiarity with Christina, his manner detached and reserved. Dylan knew Christina wouldn’t want anyone to suspect they were acquainted, and he naturally wouldn’t disappoint her. Her wishes would be respected completely.
.
.
.