Chapter 22: A trap
Alice jumped, practically lunging across the room to snatch it up. The caller ID flashed on the screen: ’Sweetheart.’
She took a quick, deep breath, smoothing her dress down before pressing the phone to her ear. "Kian?"
"The Grand Carlton," Kian’s smooth, quiet voice came through the speaker. "The private dining room on the top floor. Be there in twenty minutes."
"Kian, wait—"
The line went dead.
Alice stared at her screen for a second before letting out a long breath. A sudden wave of relief washed over her chest.
Of course. He was reaching out. He was meeting her in private, at one of the most exclusive, hidden spots in the city where no reporters could follow.
She turned to Vivienne with a triumphant look. "He wants to meet."
Vivienne just waved her hand lazily. "Go on, then. Put on some lipstick and fix your face. You look like you’re about to fight a war."
...
Forty minutes later, Alice stepped out of the private elevator into the dimly lit, quiet dining room of the Grand Carlton.
The room was tucked away at the very top of the building, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the sparkling city lights.
There were no other guests. The soft sound of instrumental music played quietly from hidden speakers.
Kian was already sitting at a corner table near the window. He looked entirely relaxed. His dark suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeve cuffs rolled up once.
He was casually swirling a glass of deep red wine in his hand, looking out at the skyline.
When he saw her approaching, he didn’t look flustered or nervous. He looked completely normal.
Alice felt the tight knot in her stomach loosen just a bit. Looking at him now, so calm and collected, she felt silly for pacing around Vivienne ’s room like a madwoman.
Everything from the night before, the flowers, the cold shoulder had probably just been stress.
He had been putting on a show for the servants and the guards, keeping up appearances until the dust settled.
"You’re late." Kian said softly as the waiter pulled out her chair.
Alice sat down, leaning her elbows against the white tablecloth. She looked at the fresh bread basket, the fine silverware, the two tall wine glasses.
"I’m not here to play pretend, Kian," she said quietly, her voice firm as the waiter poured her a glass of water and stepped away. "I’m not here to eat dinner and act like the last two days didn’t happen."
Kian set his wine glass down with a soft click against the table. He leaned back, letting out a quiet sigh as he looked at her.
"I’m sorry about last night," he said, his tone flat and even. "Things were complicated. The scandal broke faster than expected, and I had to handle the board."
"Handled?" Alice frowned, leaning forward. "Is that what you call what you did at the press conference? Handling it?"
"Alice—"
"No, tell me," she demanded, her eyes searching his calm face. "What was that upstairs? Why were you buying her pastries? Why did you buy her flowers? Kian, she publicly humiliated you! She claimed she cheated on you with Aaron Kazarov!"
"Don’t bring Isabella into this," Kian said quietly, his voice dropping an octave. He picked up his fork and knife as the waiter set down two plates of seared steak. He didn’t look angry; he just looked tired of the conversation.
"How can I not bring her into this?!" Alice snapped, her voice rising slightly. "She is the only reason we are stuck in this nightmare! Why didn’t you sign the papers? Why aren’t we celebrating right now? We’ve been waiting for the perfect moment and it came to us in a silver platter, Kian! You could have ended the marriage today!"
Kian didn’t answer. He cut a piece of steak, chewed slowly, and took another sip of his wine. He behaved as if she were talking about the weather rather than their entire future.
Alice’s blood began to boil. His silence was maddening. It felt like punching a thick stone wall; no matter how hard she pressed, he barely reacted.
"Look at me," she demanded, her fingers digging into the edge of the tablecloth.
Kian slowly set his knife down, turning his dark eyes toward her.
"Have you..." Alice’s voice faltered for a fraction of a second before she forced the words out. "Have you fallen in love with her?"
The silence that followed was heavy and cold.
Kian didn’t look guilty. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he gave her a long, bored look, his eyes cold and devoid of any warmth. Then, a quiet, humorless laugh escaped his lips.
"In love?" he repeated softly.
"Answer me!" Alice finally lost her temper, her palm slamming against the table, making the wine glasses rattle. "Answer me, Kian! Why the hell are you keeping her?!"
Kian leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his dark eyes fixing onto hers with a sharp, heavy intensity.
"Because it’s a trap," Kian said flatly.
Alice froze, her hand still resting on the table. "What?"
"It’s a trap, Alice," he repeated, his voice quiet, calm, and completely sure of itself. "And you’re too blind to see it."
"A... a trap?" she stammered, her confusion overriding her anger. "What are you talking about? How is her cheating a trap for you?"
Kian picked up his wine glass, taking a slow sip before setting it down again.
"Think about it," he said, his tone dropping into a low, analytical hum. "It doesn’t add up. Isabella is blind. She doesn’t leave the house without Luke or two escort drivers. My security team checks every call, every message, every package that comes through the estate gates. So tell me... when exactly was my wife supposed to meet Aaron Kazarov?"
Alice opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
"She didn’t meet him," Kian answered his own question, leaning back in his chair. "They didn’t have an affair. It was staged."
"Staged?" Alice frowned, her mind spinning as she tried to follow his logic. "Why would she lie about something like that? She made herself look like a whore in front of the whole country!"
"Because she discovered something," Kian said, his voice cold and steady. "She found out about our plan. Or Aaron did."
Alice’s face went pale. "What?"
"Think about what happens if I divorce her today," Kian continued, his eyes narrowing slightly as he laid out his reasoning.
"If I file for divorce on the grounds of infidelity, I get control of the Kingston assets through the prenuptial terms her father set up. Aaron knows that. Isabella knows that. So if they make a huge, loud, public scene about an affair, and I immediately jump at the chance to divorce her and take her money... what does it look like to the public?"
Alice stared at him, her mouth slightly open as the realization hit her.
"It looks like I set her up," Kian murmured, his fingers tapping once against his glass. "It looks like I framed a blind heiress so I could steal her company. Aaron gets to play the hero who exposed me, and I lose the board’s trust overnight."
He paused, looking at Alice with a quiet, dangerous confidence.
"They want me to file for divorce, Alice," he whispered. "They are begging me to do it. And I am not going to hand them the victory."
Alice sat back in her chair, her heart pounding against her ribs as she listened to him speak.
It made sense. It made complete, perfect sense.
The Kian sitting across from her wasn’t a man who had grown soft or weak. He wasn’t a husband who had fallen in love with his sightless wife.
He was the same calculating, ruthless man he had always been, picking apart a trap laid by his enemies and refusing to take the bait.
A heavy, suffocating weight lifted off Alice’s chest. She let out a long breath, a faint, relieved smile finally appearing on her lips.
"So..." she said softly, reaching across the table to lay her hand over his. "You’re keeping her locked up until you figure out how much she knows?"
"I’m keeping her where I can see her," Kian corrected her quietly, his hand lying passive beneath hers. "Until I find out who gave her the idea to play this game."
He picked up his fork again, returning to his dinner as if the matter were entirely settled.
Alice smiled, picking up her wine glass and taking a long sip. She felt better. She felt safe again.
She was so focused on the relief washing over her that she didn’t notice the way Kian’s eyes drifted back toward the large glass window, staring out into the dark, rainy night.
She didn’t notice the tight, tense set of his jaw, or the way his grip on his knife tightened until his knuckles turned white.
Kian had explained everything logically. He had built a neat, perfect reason for why he couldn’t let Isabella go.
He just hadn’t explained why the thought of her belonging to another man had made his blood run cold.