Chapter 463 - 59 Lice and Lies
Daniel’s POV
I stormed out of the penthouse, desperate to keep my little one undisturbed by the chaos that was Sasha’s vindictive return. Raw fury coursed through my bloodstream like molten steel. The sheer audacity of this woman to show up at my sanctuary and confront me like some entitled mafia princess! My trigger finger twitched with the familiar urge to end her pathetic existence right then and there—to put a clean bullet between her calculating eyes and erase her from this world permanently.
Spotting her loitering on the sidewalk outside my building like some common street hustler, I seized her designer coat sleeve and yanked her around the corner into the shadows. Blind rage consumed every rational thought, and I seriously contemplated shoving her into the path of oncoming traffic. This manipulative snake was testing every boundary of my self-control, driving me toward the precipice of violence that defined my bloodline.
"What the hell are you doing here, Sasha?" I hissed through gritted teeth, summoning every ounce of discipline not to strangle her with my bare hands in broad daylight.
"What do you think, Inspector?" Her cynical smirk nearly shattered my restraint completely. I mentally counted backwards in Italian, fighting the primal Martinez instinct to wrap my fingers around her throat and squeeze until her scheming stopped forever.
"Sasha, we negotiated terms," I reminded her, my voice strained with barely contained violence that would make my father’s enforcers proud.
"Yeah, we did strike a deal, but I’ve reconsidered the arrangement. I’m not giving you a full month to orchestrate some elaborate trap for me through your precious Thorne allies." The calculated calmness in her voice was infuriating, as if she had no comprehension of the brutal capabilities I’d inherited from generations of Martinez family executioners.
"Trap? The only trap was the one you and my father set for me with that corrupt judge, you manipulative—"
"Leave my family connections out of this discussion, Daniel. Besides, my mother doesn’t know anything about our private arrangements anyway." Her surgically enhanced face remained composed, but those cold eyes blazed with the malicious intent I remembered from our disastrous marriage years ago.
"What exactly do you want from me?" I cut straight to the chase, knowing that reasoning with Sasha was as pointless as negotiating with rival family bosses. She was spoiled and stubborn to her entitled core, completely deaf to logic when she fixated on something she desired.
"You know perfectly well what I want, darling." Her provocative smile made my skin crawl with revulsion.
"It’s absolutely not happening, never again!" I needed to make it crystal clear that any reconciliation was permanently off the negotiation table.
"Are you completely certain about that? Let’s go upstairs and ask your precious little nymphet what she thinks about our restored marriage certificate." Sasha pivoted toward my building’s entrance, and ice-cold panic shot through my chest like a sniper’s bullet.
I desperately needed to understand her sudden reappearance after seemingly accepting our previous arrangement through family intermediaries. But there was no way in hell I’d allow her toxic presence anywhere near Lila’s innocent world. Just then, a yellow taxi cruised past our position, sparking a tactical idea. I flagged it down aggressively, grabbed Sasha by her expensive coat, and practically threw her inside the backseat before slamming the door shut with authority.
"Owww! What’s wrong with you, you absolute brute?" she yelped indignantly, but her complaints fell on completely deaf ears.
"Are you still staying at the Summit Hotel?" I demanded.
"Yes, I am, but—"
"I’ll meet you in the main lobby shortly." I pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and handed it directly to the driver with practiced efficiency. "Sir, please only stop and let this passenger out at the Summit Hotel downtown." The driver nodded with a courteous smile and merged smoothly into heavy traffic.
Returning to my building’s entrance, I approached the uniformed doorman with a specific mission in mind.
"Hey there, my friend, quick question—what are the realistic chances you actually saw me here today?" I asked with deceptive casualness.
"Sir, I pride myself on having excellent vision for detail," the doorman replied with a professional smile, clearly assuming I was making some kind of joke.
Taking absolutely no chances with potential witnesses, I discreetly slipped another hundred-dollar bill into his coat pocket, silently thanking whatever higher power that I’d stopped at an ATM machine earlier for cash.
"And what about now?" I pressed, allowing my serious tone to register with his survival instincts.
"I suppose my eyesight isn’t nearly as sharp as I originally thought," he replied with newfound diplomatic regret.
"Absolutely perfect!" I patted his shoulder twice in appreciation before heading directly to the underground garage.
I drove through downtown traffic like a man possessed, weaving between vehicles as if being pursued by rival family assassins. Within a short time, I arrived at the upscale hotel just as Sasha was gracefully exiting her taxi cab. I immediately grabbed her elbow and steered her toward a secluded corner of the marble lobby.
"Ouch, Daniel, you’re considerably rougher than I remember from before," she whined pathetically. Sasha had always complained endlessly about my directness—she preferred subtle manipulation and political maneuvering, approaches that had never suited my temperament.
"I wonder why that might be?" I replied without any trace of humor. That’s precisely when I noticed something dramatically different about her appearance. "What the hell happened to your precious hair?"
The murderous look she directed at me was venomous enough to kill a rival don. Her hatred was absolutely palpable in the luxury hotel atmosphere. Sasha had always been insufferably shallow and spoiled—character traits I once found somewhat endearing but now considered completely insufferable. One thing was absolutely certain: she would never willingly sacrifice her precious locks. She was obsessively vain about those expensive treatments.
"Now you finally notice the damage?" Her fury was unmistakably evident. "Lice, Daniel, disgusting lice from that filthy police transport vehicle! I was forced to cut everything off. My beautiful hair, Daniel, my signature hair, which I always maintained with such meticulous care. Look what it’s been reduced to by your negligence."
Her once luxurious, shiny brown waves had completely vanished, replaced by a severely short cut almost as cropped as my own military-style trim. It was absolutely impossible not to laugh at the cosmic justice. Somehow, my sister’s elaborate revenge had manifested into glorious reality. I collapsed into a plush armchair, laughing uncontrollably like a madman. The more I laughed, the more Sasha’s irritation visibly grew.
"You better stop that laughing immediately, Daniel, or I’ll march right back to that building and personally wake up your precious little nymphet!" Her desperate threat sobered me slightly.
"Sasha, explain this entire situation to me. Why did you actually cut your hair?" I struggled to maintain professional composure.
"I met your sister Sybilla at the shopping mall today and we went for coffee afterward," Sasha began her tale. "My scalp had been itching constantly since Friday evening. Sybilla noticed I kept scratching and asked why I seemed uncomfortable. I told her everything about the arrest, and she was absolutely horrified by your apparent lack of consideration."
"My lack of consideration?" That accusation seemed particularly odd, since Sybilla had never tolerated Sasha’s presence and always seized golden opportunities to torment her mercilessly.
"Yes, Daniel, even your own sister completely supports my position!" Sasha declared with misguided triumph. "She told me about when she had to cut her hair extremely short and your mother kept insisting it was fashionable among young European girls, but it was just a convenient excuse so nobody would discover she had gotten lice."
This elaborate story struck me as highly peculiar and completely fabricated. Sybilla never had lice in her entire privileged life. When she was a teenager, she’d rebelled against family expectations by locking herself in her bedroom and cutting her waist-length black hair, desperately wanting a fashionable bob cut our traditionalist mother had strictly forbidden. The disastrous DIY attempt with school scissors was absolutely catastrophic, forcing my mother to summon an emergency hairdresser who could only salvage the damage by cutting everything extremely short—which, fortunately, suited my sister’s bone structure perfectly.
"Sybilla explained that these parasitic lice lay microscopic eggs completely invisible to the naked eye, and the only effective solution is cutting your hair drastically short. In severe cases, when you wait too long to address the infestation, you might even need to shave everything completely off," Sasha continued, clearly horrified by the prospect. "She personally found a live louse crawling in my hair, then graciously accompanied me to an upscale salon in the mall where I had to sacrifice everything."
I couldn’t laugh openly or betray my sister’s brilliant deception—Sasha would literally murder Sybilla if she discovered the truth. My sister had gone too far this time, though the elaborate prank was absolutely hilarious and Sasha certainly deserved every bit of humiliation. The severely short cut looked absolutely terrible on her shallow features, emphasizing her naturally protruding chin like some cartoon witch, making her nose seem disproportionately large and her eyes appear unnaturally small. Hair truly frames the face, and definitely not everyone can successfully pull off short styles.
"Look, Sasha, I’m genuinely sorry about the situation, I had absolutely no idea this would happen." I forced complete sincerity into my voice while internally suppressing overwhelming amusement.
"The absolute worst part is I can’t even get professional extensions because it’s far too short now. And I haven’t managed to purchase a decent wig yet," she lamented pitifully, almost earning a moment of sympathy from me. "And it was specifically because of your complete lack of consideration that I decided to return early and end this ridiculous deadline arrangement."
I didn’t believe that explanation for a single second. I desperately needed to call Sybilla immediately and discover exactly what had transpired in our hometown after my strategic departure.