Chapter 54: The Most Innocent
Giselle Frost gripped Elias Kane’s wrist with unyielding force, pulling him up the stairs without a word of explanation. The front desk clerk watched the whole scene play out, her face frozen in complete bewildernt.
When Giselle had first brought Elias here to book the room, a different clerk had been working the shift. She had no idea the two of them even knew each other. All she had seen was Sloane Sinclair crossing paths with Elias. She hadn’t caught their conversation, but she’d watched the young man suddenly break down in tears. Then this silver-haired young woman had stord in, fury radiating off her, and forcibly dragged him away.
Anyone deep in gossip mode could spin an entire story from nothing but the players involved. No need for motive or backstory—just the faces, and the imagination filled in the rest with delicious detail.
Right now, in the clerk’s mind, the pieces clicked into place. Sloane and Elias were the couple. Giselle? She had to be the other woman.
Yes, exactly. Nothing hit harder than watching soone who looked like pure Manhattan royalty—every inch the untouchable heiress—reduced to chasing after a guy like a desperate side piece.
The clerk felt like she’d just witnessed the juiciest love-triangle ltdown of the week. She leaned toward Sloane with bright, conspiratorial energy. "Girl, you’re killing it!"
Sloane had zero idea what the clerk actually ant. She simply kept her eyes on Elias’s retreating back, gave a slow nod, and murmured, "Yeah... truly impressive."
Giselle kept walking, dragging Elias along as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Amid the sobs he was staging, Elias cracked his eyes open just enough to study her through the lenses of his glasses. He took in the rigid line of her angry back, and a spark of dark amusent slipped into his tear-streaked gaze.
Did she even realize how many tis she had tolerated him—again and again—even if it was only because of Lucien Hart? How much he wanted to push her, to test exactly how far he could go before she snapped?
He really did want to find her limit. He wanted to see where the ice queen’s patience finally ran out.
So he let out a few weak, theatrical sniffles, the mischief in his eyes sharpening into sothing far more malicious.
[System Theta: ...]
Was this what happened when the host beca soone’s favorite?
Maybe it was the rush of leaving, but Elias hadn’t shut the door properly on his way out. A narrow gap remained. Giselle shoved it open with a single hard push, then hurled him inside without the slightest regard for his balance.
Elias stumbled forward several steps. The pocket of his jacket spilled open, her coat tumbling to the floor in a soft heap. He nearly pitched face-first but caught himself at the last second.
He stood there with his back to her, one eyebrow lifting in quiet appraisal.
Not exactly gentle, was she?
Looked like he’d have to teach her a few things about how a woman in their world was supposed to handle what belonged to her...
He started crying again—not the loud, gasping kind, but the soft, broken sort that sounded like it was being held back by sheer willpower. Familiar. Restrained. Packed with what felt like bottomless sorrow and raw grievance.
The mont the sound reached her, sothing volatile flared inside Giselle’s chest, dragging her straight back to that night she had faced off with Serena Blackwood.
She didn’t understand. Didn’t understand why she had co here at all. It felt exactly like the coat he had stuffed in his pocket—dropped, dusty, already worthless. No reason to pick it up.
If even clothes could be discarded so easily, what chance did a person have?
She had given him more than one chance. From the very start he had never chosen her—not once. All he had to do was reach for the hand she kept offering, and she could have pulled him out of the ss he was drowning in. Instead he ignored it, sinking deeper on purpose, like he preferred to rot.
This was all his own fault. He had brought every bit of it on himself. Yet in front of her he always wore the sa expression—like he had no choice, like he was the most innocent person alive.
Giselle stared at the young man trembling in front of her, his whole fra shaking as if the next breath might drop him to the floor. She drew a slow, steadying breath.
Giselle, this trouble is yours too. You earned it.
She told herself that, the words cold and final in her own mind.
Then the silver-haired young woman spoke. "Stop crying."
Her voice carried no mask—pure ice, pure indifference.
Elias’s sobs cut off instantly. Just as she opened her mouth to demand what the hell had happened, the crying started again, twice as loud, ragged and desperate, like he couldn’t catch his breath.
If Serena Blackwood or Liora Voss had been standing here watching him right now, they would have looked on with cool detachnt and delivered the sa single-word verdict.
Scheming.
Yes. Elias was scheming. He was taking full advantage of the fact that Giselle Frost had never seen real manipulation up close. No one had ever dared show their true colors in front of her, so she couldn’t recognize it. This was how he tested her limit—and how he reminded her to watch her tone and her attitude.
Giselle’s brows drew tight. Her hands curled slowly into fists as fresh irritation surged through her.
But she noticed the pattern: the colder her voice beca, the harder he cried.
She didn’t want it to get any worse. With no other option, she forced her emotions back under control, relaxing her fists. Her voice ca out quieter. "Stop crying."
The words still carried frost, still held a trace of reluctance, but the shift in attitude was unmistakable—noticeably softer than before.
Good girl, Elias thought.
He didn’t push further. Instead he began reeling the sobs back in, not cutting them off abruptly but slowly, deliberately pressing them down into his chest until they were nothing more than muffled tremors.
Giselle frowned again. The way he was doing it made her feel like so violent parent threatening a child not to cry.
Finally the weeping subsided. He turned slowly to face her. Giselle saw a face streaked with tears, glasses completely fogged, the world behind the lenses blurred and indistinct. She couldn’t tell whether the lenses were sared from crying or if his eyes themselves were swimming in unshed water.
It was a heartbreaking sight—pitiful enough to make anyone ache with sympathy. But it left Giselle completely untouched. She used the mont to steady herself, letting the last of her agitation drain away.
She spoke flatly. "Tell ."
Elias lifted his gaze to et hers. His voice ca out hoarse, each word still carrying the raw edge of tears. "My father... he’s co down with sothing really serious. But my mother... she took all the money for his treatnt and gambled it away..."
"I could only... I could only..."
He couldn’t finish. The grief seed to choke him completely, leaving him trapped in broken, heaving sobs.
Giselle asked, "What kind of illness?"
Elias reported the condition exactly as it stood.
She pressed again. "How much money?"
Elias shook his head. "I don’t know."
"Don’t know?" Giselle’s voice lifted just a fraction. He needed treatnt for a life-threatening illness and he didn’t even know the cost? What kind of condition was this?
Elias flinched as if the question had startled him. His body trembled, and his voice picked up a shaky tremor. "Serena Blackwood told my father’s condition is extrely severe. He needs the world’s best dical team to treat him, but that dical team is incredibly expensive..."
Giselle’s expression shifted—barely, but enough.
She caught the faint, unmistakable scent of a conspiracy in the air.
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