Chapter 183 Lines crossed
Chapter 183: Lines Crossed
The morning in Northbridge was calm, with a thin layer of mist hovering over the quiet streets.
The air was cool, and the soft sound of footsteps echoed faintly as early joggers moved through the neighborhood.
Hannah adjusted her pace as she jogged along the sidewalk, her breathing steady, her movements rhythmic. Her mind was clear, focused on nothing but the quiet routine of her run.
A car turned into the street.
Inside, Xander gripped the steering wheel, his gaze fixed ahead but unfocused. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in everything Golden had told him the night before.
The image of her in that situation, the secrecy, the fact that she had chosen not to tell him immediately, all of it sat heavily on his chest.
He exhaled slowly, trying to push it aside, but it lingered.
He didn’t see Hannah until it was too late.
The car brushed against her lightly, enough to throw her off balance.
“What the hell!” Hannah snapped immediately, stumbling and catching herself. “Are you blind or what?”
Xander’s heart skipped.
He slammed the brakes and rushed out of the car. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
Hannah turned toward him, her anger ready to continue, but the moment she saw his face, everything changed.
“Xander?” she said, surprised.
He blinked. “Hannah?”
There was a brief pause.
Then Hannah shifted her expression almost instantly. Her hand went to her leg, her face tightening slightly. “I… I don’t think I can walk.”
Xander frowned, concern replacing everything else. “Let me see.”
She leaned into him without hesitation, placing more weight on him than necessary. “It really hurts.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said again, gently holding her. “Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital.”
She didn’t argue. Instead, she wrapped her arm around him, holding on as he guided her toward the car.
“Careful,” he murmured, opening the passenger door.
Hannah held him tightly as she got in, her fingers lingering on his arm a second longer than needed.
Xander closed the door and walked back to the driver’s side, his expression tense as he started the engine.
His mind was still far away.
The private lounge in London was dim, elegant, and secluded. Soft golden lighting reflected off polished surfaces, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt detached from the rest of the world.
Golden sat alone, her posture composed, her eyes fixed on the door.
She had been waiting.
The door opened, and Allan walked in.
Dressed for the role, confident at first, he stepped inside with the usual composure of someone used to the environment. But the moment his eyes landed on Golden, everything shifted.
He froze. For a split second, neither of them spoke.
Then Allan turned sharply, moving toward the door.
It didn’t open. He tried again.
It was locked.
Golden’s voice came, calm and steady. “You can’t leave.”
Allan stood still, his back to her. “Open the door.”
“That won’t happen,” she replied.
He turned slowly, his expression guarded. “I changed my mind. I’ll refund whatever was paid.”
Golden leaned back slightly, studying him. “Refunds aren’t allowed.”
His jaw tightened.
“You were paid handsomely,” she continued. “You stay till morning.”
Allan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “This is unnecessary.”
Golden tilted her head. “Then why are you running?”
“I’m not running.”
She gave a soft, knowing laugh. “If you truly aren’t Allan, why does this bother you so much?”
Silence stretched between them.
Golden leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp. “Dance.”
The word hung in the air.
Allan stared at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, slowly, he moved.
His motions were stiff at first, mechanical, lacking the fluid ease expected of him. It was clear he wasn’t present in it. His mind was elsewhere.
Golden watched him, unimpressed.
After a few seconds, he stopped.
Completely.
“This is pointless,” he said, his voice tight.
Golden smirked faintly. “What happened? Can’t perform anymore?”
That did it.
Allan’s restraint snapped.
“So what if I am Allan?” he said sharply, his eyes locking onto hers. “What exactly does that change?”
Golden went still.
His expression hardened. “Isn’t Golden married to Xander?”
The words cut through the room.
His voice dropped, colder now. “So what exactly are you doing here… with strippers?”