7
Chase hung up, kissing Scarlett’s cheek.“Call your lawyer and drop the suit.” Scarlett’s voice was cold.“I’m not dropping the suit.”
Chase’s face darkened. He stood, his gaze piercing.“Don’t be childish. My company’s suffering losses; what good does this do you?”
Scarlett remained firm.“Your team and those reporters know about privacy and image rights. Why did they violate the law? I didn’t do anything wrong, yet you’re not pursuing them, but trying to make a deal with me? Why?”
Chase stared at her, his eyes cold with disappointment.“I hardly recognize you. Jealousy is a terrible thing.”
He pushed back his chair, the harsh scrape echoing his anger. He was always thrown off balance when Anya was involved.
Scarlett lowered her gaze, calmly continuing her congee.
Moments later, Chase came back down. He had changed his clothes, his hair still damp from a shower. He stopped at the entrance, turning to Scarlett.
“I’ll still send you the twenty million. I apologize for the inconvenience.” He was impeccably polite. But Scarlett sensed the chill, the growing distance in his demeanor. She didn’t care. She got more buyers at Ebay. She packed and shipped the items.
For seven days, Chase didn’t return. No messages, no calls. In the early hours of a morning, Scarlett’s phone rang.
She was startled, grabbing her phone. It was Chase.
She frowned, answering. His speech was slurred, his tongue thick; he was clearly drunk. “Scarlett… pick me up… take me… home.”
She heard loud music in the background.
“Where are you?”
Chase mumbled, “Siren’s Call… room 88.”
“Okay,” she replied.
She got
dressed, throwing on jeans and a white t–shirt. She was wearing a pair of sparkling black earrings. She went down to the garage; the red Ferrari was parked at the far end. It wasn’t registered in her name, SO she hadn’t sold it. She got behind the wheel. On the passenger seat was a black stocking, and a silver stiletto lay on the floor mat. She recognized the shoe; it was the same. as the Anya had left at the flower bed. A wave of disgust washed over Scarlett.
She went back and found her BMW Mini among Chase’s fleet of luxury cars. Át 2:30 AM, she arrived at the underground parking lot of Siren’s Call. As she parked, a middle–aged man emerged from the shadows, stopping her.
Hey girl! Got any tissues? I have urgent… situation and I didn’t bring any.”
1.0%
Scarlett was wary of strangers.“No.”
“I lost my phone. Can you spare a few bucks? For tissues, a cab ride.”
Scarlett said coldly, “No!”
She turned and walked away.
As the elevator doors opened, deafening music assaulted her ears. The flashing lights were dizzying. Men and women danced, drank, sang, flirted…
Scarlett hated the cacophony.
She asked the receptionist about room 88, passing through a soundproofed door into a corridor. High–end private rooms lined both sides; the doors were heavily insulated, the corridor quiet. She found room S8 and rang the bell.
The thick door opened, the bass–heavy music spilling out. The hallway was bright, the room dark.
Scarlett couldn’t see inside, stepping into the room. The door slammed shut behind her. Startled, she turned, meeting Uri’s leering gaze. He raised his hand, spraying something at her.
