Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Two

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Two

Lachlan

My fist plunges into the bastard's face with a satisfying crunch. He staggers in his seat, momentarily unstable from the impact of the blow. Ellie covers her mouth with sophisticated flair, averting her eyes from the blood staining the table.
Justin’s head reels. He grips the edge of the table to steady himself, spitting a tooth and a spray of blood onto the floor. He isn't smiling now. I lean in close to his ruined face and growl, "You won't get another chance to target an innocent. You will rot in prison."
I step away from him, tossing a snarky goodbye to the detectives before stepping out of the room with Ellie.
"Here," Ellie says, handing me a handkerchief. I accept it gratefully and use it to clean my bruised fingers. As we walk past the cells where I had been detained, the inmates holler at us, chanting praises: "My dream woman!" "Rich man!" "Buddy!"
I tune out their voices as we head toward the exit.
"Shut up!" an officer snaps at the rowdy group, yet their hailing persists. By the time we reach the outdoors, we are beyond earshot of the struggle between the prisoners and the guards. Perhaps they will be beaten into decorum; I don’t give a damn.
Ellie’s car is parked right next to mine. I stop in front of hers, determined not to leave without an answer. What evidence had she submitted to prove my innocence? How had she acquired it?
I feel filthy from the night spent in that cell. I inhale the fresh air, eager to rid my lungs of the stale scent that has invaded them for too long. I can still taste the bitterness on my tongue—the smell of the bodies, the oppressive atmosphere, the grime; it is all nauseating.
"Thanks for clearing my name," I say.
"You're welcome," Ellie replies, arching an eyebrow. She clearly knows the question sitting on the tip of my tongue. "You won't even wait until you've freshened up?"
"Tell me now," I demand, then soften my tone. "Please. I'm curious."
Whatever that recording contained must have been so indisputable that it proved my innocence at once. I can’t fathom how she acquired it when she hadn't been there with me. My brows knit in suspicion. Have I been secretly bugged? How much information has spilled into her hands without my knowledge?
"I heard rumors about you having another woman on the side," she says. "I had to confirm that it wasn't true, so I set a watch on you."
"You planted a bug on me? How many of my conversations have you listened to?" Irritation rustles beneath my words as I mentally scan every private deal I’ve had since meeting her. This is a blatant invasion of privacy. "Since when has this been going on?"
"Cool your temper, big man. I don't have a bug on you. I’m just quite possessive of the things I own."
"I'm not a 'thing,' and you don't own me," I correct.
Our very first date was the day we ran into my father, Aiden, and Hermione. I had only been honoring her invitation following our initial meeting, where she suggested we become friends. We are nowhere near intimate enough for her to claim ownership of me or act like a possessive girlfriend.
Despite my recent gratitude toward her, the revelation sparks a deep wave of wariness regarding her true agenda.
"Wrong. Since you agreed to be my friend, you've become a potential lover. I see a future with you, Lachie, and I will stop at nothing to remove any rival from my path," she declares with a vehemence that leaves me stunned. I stare at her, speechless.
Ellie offers a light smile. "I'm obsessive and possessive," she says, advancing toward me. "I intend to make you mine," she whispers into my ear, "and I shall accept no rejection."
I clear my throat, watching her as she steps back. I would have stormed off in annoyance at her parasitic claim on me, but I recall she has yet to answer my question.
"You didn't bug me?"
She shakes her head.
"So what's the recording about? How did you get the police to release me so quickly? What does it contain?"
"Your actual conversation with the criminal."
My gaze narrows. "And how did you get that?"
She taps her cheek, shaking her head. "I do not kiss and tell. If you want information, you have to pay for it."
"What's your price?" I demand.
"Accept that you're my boyfriend."
"I don't have the nerve to deal with possessive women. I'll pass."
"You can't say my possessiveness isn't to your benefit. You would still be sitting in that filthy cell had I not taken the measures I did."
"That doesn't excuse the fact that you invaded my privacy. I can't risk being paranoid because of your trust issues."
"Alright. I won't do it again. I promise this is the last time I will monitor you. You're clean; I’ve confirmed it. Friends?" She extends her hand toward me.
"Not unless you spill the information I asked for."
Ellie blows a breath up into her hair. "I used drone technology to listen to your conversation."
"Be explicit, Ellie," I demand.
"It’s a hummingbird-class micro-drone, Lachlan—a cutting-edge piece I recently added to my collection. I thought you were meeting a woman at that restaurant—until that man came in and started blabbering. It was only after you left that I realized you had actually gone there to relax."
"I don't recall seeing a drone hovering in the air above me."
"That's because it’s so minute it could sit on your shoulder and you’d think it was a stray moth. I call it my 'Guardian Angel,' though I suppose 'Stalker' is more fitting. It doesn’t just watch; it listens, using end-fire beamforming technology that isolates your voice from the city’s background hum," she states proudly, an impressed glint in her eyes.
"And you acquired that... why?"
"I have trust issues, remember?" Ellie reminds me casually, as though it is perfectly normal. "When I set my sights on a person, I have to confirm they’re worthy of my investment and attention. Besides, I love collecting intriguing toys. I can't wait to show you my tech stuff—my robot assistant, and many more."
I purse my lips, considering her. I make a mental note to look into her background. I haven't met many women with her specific interests; anything this out of the ordinary requires caution.
"Do I have your forgiveness? Are we still cool?"
I sigh. "I guess we are. I look forward to seeing your unique collection."
A wide grin spreads across her face. "Great. I'll catch up with you later, babe." She blows me a kiss before moving excitedly toward her car.
I watch her drive away, waving back in response. Once she is out of sight, I retract my hand and bury it in my pocket.
"Drone technology that's barely noticeable and efficient for gathering intel," I mull aloud, pondering the device.
An idea sparks in my mind, and a slow smile curves my mouth. My curiosity and interest have been piqued. I head to my car and drive away from the precinct.
I still need to allay my suspicions regarding Ellie's true identity. I don’t buy her claim that the drone was merely a random acquisition—a byproduct of a tech infatuation catering to her trust issues and possessive nature. For all I know, she could be a covert agent sent to entrap me, gathering intel under the guise of affection. God knows how much information has slipped into her hands while she’s been using that drone to shadow me.
Ellie seems dangerous. Yet, perhaps she is genuine. I reconsider: she wouldn't have revealed the drone technology to me or secured my release from detention if she were a secret agent plotting my downfall. Nevertheless, I require confirmation before I can continue any contact with her.
I arrive home to a profuse display of concern from the butler.
"Young Master, you're home! My, my!" He clutches his chest, looking horrified as he scans my appearance. "You look haggard. I’ve been worried sick."
"I'm fine," I grit through clenched teeth.
Coming home stirs up all the bitterness that has festered since my time in a cell. My father showed a staggering lack of concern; he didn't come to see me, nor did he send anyone to demand my release. To add to my fury, I see him approaching now with Aiden, the two of them deep in conversation. They stop at the sight of me.
It is as if I were invisible. Aiden doesn't acknowledge me. I expected nothing less from him, but he can rest assured I will repay his actions in kind. Father dismisses me entirely, resuming his walk with Aiden.
I spin to face his back, lashing out uncontrollably. "Do I mean nothing to you now?"
He pauses. Aiden turns to face me, but my father’s back remains turned, shutting me out. Pain, anguish, and bitterness fill my chest as I stare at him.
"I was detained for twenty-four hours," I say, my words punctuated by the butler's gasp. "Yet you couldn't be bothered to check on me. You aren't even concerned. Do I truly mean nothing?"
"Yes," my father answers quietly. "If I ever meant anything to you, you wouldn't have been robbing me right under my nose." He finally turns to face me, his voice thundering. "If you had a modicum of respect for me as your father, you wouldn't have betrayed my trust."
Pure wrath flashes in his eyes as he speaks. I am filled with a crushing wave of guilt and sadness; there is no effective comeback to his backlash. I can only watch as he leaves with Aiden, my heart torn.
I drag myself to my room—uncertain of when the butler excused himself—still reeling from the sheer weight of my father's words.