Chapter 302 Photos in Frank's Room

Chapter 302 Photos in Frank's Room
Anna's POV:

I slipped into the VIP room on the second basement level of Secret Space, finding Ethan sprawled alone, drinking. Shattered glass littered the floor, glinting under the dim lights.

Despite his relaxed posture on the black leather sofa, his alertness was obvious—his eyes snapped open before I’d taken three steps toward him.

Recognizing me, his expression soured. "Seriously? Can’t you people leave me alone? Yesterday her, today you—what’s next? Are you taking turns harassing me?"

I quietly observed him, thinking Emily would probably love this dangerous look he had while drinking. Too bad she’d only be heartbroken by his callousness now.

Without invitation, I sat on the opposite sofa and reached for an unopened bottle of whiskey on the table.

Ethan lunged forward, snatching it from my hand. Liquor splashed onto the floor. "This isn’t for you," he snapped, waving dismissively toward the door. "Get the fuck out. This isn’t a place for women like you. Having a membership doesn’t give you access to my private room."

I smiled sweetly. "I’ll leave when you finish all the alcohol on this table." I pointed to the mountain of bottles.

Ethan snorted with contempt. "Are you kidding? There’s at least thirty bottles here. You want me to drink myself into the hospital? What the hell do you want?"

As he tried to stand, I grabbed an empty bottle and smashed it against his ribs. The sharp crack echoed as he doubled over in pain.

Clutching his side, his expression darkened dangerously. "Mrs. Wright, I’m cutting you slack because we used to be on good terms. But don’t push it. This is my territory—you’re trashing my place!"

"I sure am!" I laughed coldly. "What are you gonna do about it?" I grabbed another bottle and smashed it against him. Glass shards tore through his white shirt, revealing skin beneath.
Ethan’s face turned murderous. "You’re actually serious right now."

I pressed an unopened bottle against his chest, my voice shaking with rage. "Emily gave you her heart, and you’re a complete bastard! What did she ever do to you? You said she wasn’t good enough? Where was that attitude when you pursued her? When you slept with her? Ethan Hamilton, YOU’RE the one who isn’t good enough!" I grabbed his collar, fury burning in my eyes. "You’re not walking away without paying a price."

He yanked his collar free, straightening his disheveled clothes with a sneer. "I know your type. You couldn’t even confront Blake Wright after he betrayed you—you ran away with your kid. What makes you think you can confront me? Go comfort your pathetic friend. We broke up, understand? I’ll have your membership fees refunded. Neither of you is setting foot in Secret Space again!"

I laughed bitterly. "Broke up? You dare call it that? How many women here have you slept with? This isn’t a breakup—it’s cheating! Emily is amazing, and this is how you treat her?" My emotions exploded. I swung the bottle in my hand with full force at Ethan’s head.

He couldn’t dodge in time. The bottle connected, and he fell back onto the floor. Blood seeped from the wound. "Are you fucking insane?" he gasped, touching his head and staring at his bloodied hand. "Shit! I’m bleeding! You’ve lost your goddamn mind!"

My expression turned calm. I pulled a property transfer agreement and a pen from my bag, holding them out. "Sign over the apartment you shared with Emily to her. Sign it."

Ethan wiped blood from his forehead, laughing bitterly. "Emily never disappoints—trying to cash in at the end. I thought she had more dignity than that."

"This was my idea, not hers," I stated firmly. "I know you don’t need that apartment. Sign it, and I’ll call someone to take you to the hospital."

"If you wanted the apartment, why the hell did you hit me?" he demanded.

"Because I wanted to," I answered without hesitation. "Are you signing or not?"

Ethan shook his head. "Not that apartment. It was my grandfather’s—it has special meaning. I can give you something else—money, another property, whatever. I could give you my entire fortune..." His voice trailed off as he collapsed.

I checked to ensure he was unconscious. "Can’t take a hit, can you? Talking one minute, down the next."

I called 911. "Hello, there’s an injured man unconscious with a head wound at Secret Space, second basement level VIP room. He’s bleeding a lot. Please hurry." Then I dialed Daniel. "Daniel, I just assaulted Ethan. Get a lawyer to the hospital for damage control. His head’s bleeding, and he’s passed out. I’ve called an ambulance."

"What?" Daniel’s shocked voice came through. "You assaulted Mr. Hamilton?"

"Yes. We’ll talk later." I hung up.

I tucked away the agreement and pen, then ran out of the room shouting, "Help! Mr. Hamilton drank too much and fell—he hit his head! He's bleeding! Someone call an ambulance!"

People rushed toward the room in panic. I used the commotion to slip away, thinking: I didn't get him to sign today, but it's safer to leave now. I'll get his signature another time. He owes Emily, and he's going to pay up.

Hurrying toward the elevator, I noticed it was open with no attendant—they must’ve gone to help Ethan. Curiosity got the better of me. I decided to check out the legendary third basement level, off-limits to regular members.

The elevator doors opened to an eerily quiet hallway. Dim lighting cast shadows over heavy, soundproofed doors lining both sides.

Occasional muffled sounds escaped, creating a sinister atmosphere. I felt angry and disturbed, suspecting this place hid dark secrets—possibly involving people who shouldn’t be here.

My eyes locked on a distinctive black door at the corridor’s end. Instinct told me Frank Hamilton might be behind it. That old jerk must be up to something unsavory down here.

The adjacent elevator chimed, and I ducked into the shadows, holding my breath. Claire emerged in a wheelchair, pushed by a uniformed woman.

She looked recovered from the car accident, dressed in an expensive gown with an expectant expression.

I was shocked. 

What's she doing here? Has Blake gone soft again? Is this nightmare repeating itself?

"What’s going on with Frank?" Claire complained. "He said he’d keep me company, but he’s not here! I got all dressed up for nothing."

The woman responded calmly, "Mr. Hamilton will see you when he’s finished. I can’t take responsibility if you force your way in. You know his rules."

Claire replied confidently, "Frank definitely wants to see me—that’s why he had someone bring me here. He’ll come find me. When I become his legitimate wife, I won’t forget your help. I’ll ensure you get a promotion and raise."

I scoffed internally. Claire wants to marry a "Frank" who could be her father? This woman has no shame.

"Miss Wright," the woman reminded her firmly, "Mr. Hamilton doesn’t like to be disturbed in that room. Wait for him to come out."

Claire waved dismissively. "Frank must miss me, or he wouldn’t have arranged for me to leave the hospital! He’s planning a surprise. Don’t worry, he won’t blame you."

After the attendant reluctantly left, Claire wheeled herself toward the black door and pushed it open without hesitation. I crept closer, holding my breath to hear what was inside.

Suddenly, Frank’s furious voice thundered from the room: "WHO TOLD YOU TO COME IN? GET OUT!"

The rage in his tone was chilling. Startled, I retreated to my hiding spot, heart racing.

Within seconds, Claire—wheelchair and all—was roughly thrown out, landing hard on the hallway floor. From the ground, she cried out, "Anna! It’s Anna again! Why do you have her photos in your room? Frank, why would you rather look at her photos than see me?"