Chapter 93
She lowered her gaze, concealing the storm of thoughts churning within.
A smirk suddenly pulled at Jacob's lips. "Mr. Scott, you seem to take quite an interest in my private affairs. What is it? Jealous? I suppose a man of your stature should have someone who cares for you as well."
He paused, tilting his chin toward Samantha, who stood nearby. "This is my sister, Samantha. She's not seeing anyone at the moment. If you're not opposed, Mr. Scott, perhaps you two could get to know each other."
The abrupt introduction caught Samantha off guard, and her eyes immediately flew to Sawyer.
In the dim, moody lighting of the private room, his sharp, mixed-heritage features radiated a dangerous yet captivating aura, a stark contrast to the vapid trust-fund kids she usually encountered.
Caught between the silent pressure from her brother and the sheer force of Sawyer's presence, an unexpected ambition began to stir within her.
As if possessed by some unseen force, she plastered what she imagined to be her most enchanting smile onto her face and began to sway her hips as she approached him.
"Mr. Scott, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Samantha," she purred, her voice sickeningly sweet as she extended a hand.
Yet, just as her fingertips were about to graze the sleeve of his suit, Sawyer executed a subtle, almost imperceptible shift backward, neatly sidestepping her touch.
The elegant, detached smile never left his face, his tone impeccably polite, "My apologies, if you'll excuse me for a moment. I need to use the restroom."
With that, he rose from his seat and left the room, leaving Samantha frozen in place, her practiced smile stiffening on her face.
Jacob's gaze followed Sawyer's retreating back, his expression turning colder.
It was a silent, unmistakable rejection—a gesture of pure contempt.
Seizing the brief moment while Jacob's attention was diverted, Elizabeth twisted her torso sharply. With a deft flick of her wrist at an impossible angle, she broke free from his grasp, scrambled off his lap, and took two quick steps back, creating a safe distance between them.
"It seems you and Mr. Scott have important matters to discuss. I won't intrude," she said, her voice a mask of casual indifference, as if she hadn't just been manhandled. She smoothed the slightly rumpled fabric of her dress and turned toward the door. "Samantha, let's go."
Samantha, still reeling from the sting of her failed advance and a simmering resentment, didn't move when Elizabeth called her name.
Elizabeth paused at the doorway and glanced back, her tone laced with a subtle hint. "Weren't you just saying you needed to touch up your makeup in the restroom?"
The words acted as a trigger, snapping Samantha back to reality.
The restroom! Of course. Wasn't that where Sawyer had just gone? She could wait for him there, maybe even strike up a conversation.
A fresh wave of determination washed over her. Forgetting her earlier embarrassment, she hurried to catch up. "Right! Wait for me, Elizabeth, I need to fix my makeup!"
The two women exited the room, one after the other, leaving behind a glowering Jacob and an empty sofa.
Down the corridor, Elizabeth walked with purpose, heading directly for the public restrooms. Samantha trailed closely, her mind consumed with thoughts of Sawyer.
Here was a man whose status was on par with Jacob's. If she could secure a marriage alliance with him, losing Jacob's favor wouldn't matter at all.
Just as they neared the corner leading to the restrooms, they encountered Sawyer emerging from within.
He appeared to have just washed his hands and was meticulously dabbing his fingers dry with a dark-colored handkerchief.
Samantha's eyes lit up, and she was about to step forward when Sawyer spoke first, offering a curt nod to them both. "Ms. Windsor. Ms. Smith."
Without another word, he turned and walked back toward their private room, his stride steady and unhurried, devoid of any lingering interest.
In the split second he brushed past Elizabeth, her hand, hanging loosely at her side, made a nearly invisible flick of the fingers.
A silver metallic disc, smaller than a button and thin as a cicada's wing, slipped silently from her palm and landed precisely in the outer pocket of Sawyer's suit jacket, where it adhered instantly.
It was a miniature listening device, a custom piece from Nightfall, capable of clearly recording all conversations and ambient sounds within its effective range.
Sawyer seemed completely oblivious as he disappeared back into the room.
Samantha stared at the closed door, stomping her foot in frustration. She didn't dare follow him inside and could only redirect her anger.
She remembered the task Lilith had given her, a task yet uncompleted, and a new idea began to form.
"Elizabeth, forget about them and their boring business talk! Come on, let's go have our own fun next door. I booked room four and have a special surprise just for you!" Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed Elizabeth's arm and began pulling her toward the adjacent room.
Elizabeth's first instinct was to refuse, but a second thought stopped her. Perhaps she could glean more information from Samantha about Lilith, or about the trap she knew was waiting for her tonight. She allowed herself to be led.
Samantha excitedly pushed open the door to room four. Inside, the lighting was dim and suggestive, a thrumming, decadent music filling the air. Sprawled across the sofas were a dozen or so young, handsome men—models, by the look of their varied, stylish attire.
As the door opened, their heads swiveled in unison, their gazes a mixture of flirtatious invitation and eager pleading.
The smile on Samantha's face froze, her mind going completely blank.
Shit! How could she have forgotten?
This was Lilith's setup, designed to humiliate and ruin Elizabeth.
The plan had been to get Elizabeth drunk, then let these men have their way with her while they captured it all on camera, utterly destroying her reputation. But Jacob was right next door.
If he found out she had brought Elizabeth to a place like this, filled with male escorts…
Panic seized Samantha, draining the color from her face. Her first instinct was to get them out. "Out! All of you, get out of here! Who let you in? This is a mistake!"
But before she could finish her frantic command, the heavy door to room four was suddenly kicked open from the outside with a deafening crash.
The force of the blow seemed to shake the entire room.
Jacob's towering figure filled the doorway, his face a mask of thunderous rage. A violent fury churned in his eyes, hot enough to incinerate everything before him.
Someone had obviously run to inform him of what was happening on his territory.
The room had been booked under Lilith's name, which the manager had initially ignored.
But the moment the manager saw Mr. Smith's fiancée enter that same room, he had sprinted to alert Jacob, explaining his timely arrival.
His gaze first swept over the collection of scantily clad models before finally locking onto Elizabeth, who stood in the center of the room.
A chilling, bone-deep smile twisted his lips, yet his voice was terrifyingly soft. "Elizabeth. You have some nerve."
Before the words had fully settled, he strode forward, ignoring the shrieking, collapsing form of Samantha and the terrified models scattering before him. He seized Elizabeth's wrist, his grip so tight it felt as if it could shatter bone, and brutally dragged her out of the room.
"Jacob! No! Let me explain!" Samantha wailed from behind him. If she didn't clear this up, she would be the next one to be ruined.
Jacob paid her no mind. He hauled Elizabeth down the corridor toward the private elevator at the far end.
The doors slid shut, sealing them off from the chaos outside. As the elevator ascended swiftly, the enclosed space was filled only with the heavy, suffocating sound of their breathing.