Chapter 85 Undercurrents in the Bar

Chapter 85 Undercurrents in the Bar

Henry ignored Victoria and kept his eyes on Sophia, nudging the glass of juice toward her.

"Fresh-squeezed orange juice. No sugar. You can drink this."

He remembered she had a sensitive stomach, avoided anything too cold, and disliked overly sweet drinks.

Sophia accepted the glass, lowering her gaze as she took a small sip. The tangy sweetness spread across her tongue, and the strange tension in her chest softened.

Across the room, Joseph was charming Celeste with a cup of milk tea. She laughed freely at something he said, the warm amber light wrapping the two of them like a painting.

Victoria leaned toward the director, chatting and laughing, occasionally glancing back to throw them a knowing look.

Farther away, Daisy and a few other actresses kept stealing glances at Henry, unwilling to give up.

The banquet buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, yet a small, unshaken calm seemed to settle over Henry and Sophia, shutting out the rest of the world.

Henry studied the way she drank her juice, her long lashes casting a faint shadow on her cheeks. For the first time that night, he thought maybe this wrap party wasn't so unbearable after all.

"By the way," Sophia said suddenly, looking up as if remembering something. "Did Joseph say earlier he found records of a deal between Terry and Oscar?"

"Yeah." Henry's tone dropped a notch. "Edward is already verifying it. We should be able to get something on them." 

He paused, meeting her eyes. "I've also added more security for Cecil. Nothing will happen to him."

Sophia murmured an acknowledgment and fell silent again.

They stood there, sipping juice and occasionally glancing at the bustle in the distance. 

They didn't say much, but the unspoken understanding hung in the air.

Victoria watched them, smiling as she shook her head before drifting toward Celeste. 

She had figured it out — Henry and Sophia might not say it, but they had already claimed each other in their hearts.

The music flowed, the lights glowed warm against crystal and silk, and laughter softened every face in the hall. 

For one suspended heartbeat, the chaos of the Black Ice Project loosened its grip, letting them breathe.

Outside the hotel, the wind carried the briny scent of the river, tugging at the hem of Joseph's suit jacket. He held Celeste's wrist, thumb brushing over the delicate bones without letting go. They were well past the point of casual flirtation, the streetlamp scattering light in his eyes.

"Just half an hour," he coaxed. "The cocktails at this lounge have a hint of floral. You'll love it."

Celeste twisted the hem of her dress, lashes low, voice barely above a whisper, "But it's late." 

The smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. When Joseph had shielded her from a round of drinks earlier and draped his jacket over her shoulders, her heart had skipped a beat.

Victoria, watching from the side, gave Celeste a playful push. "Go on, go with him. You can say you're keeping me company." 

She shot Joseph a sly look. "But remember — no messing with our Celeste."

Joseph straightened, raising a hand in mock oath. "Wouldn't dare."

From a short distance away, Sophia watched their banter, idly spinning her phone in her hand. Henry came to stand beside her, the faint scent of cedarwood clinging to him.

"Coming?" he asked.

She glanced at the lounge sign glowing warm gold down the street, then nodded. "I'll keep them company."

The lounge Joseph mentioned was tucked deep in an old alley. He had been a regular there since his first trip to City S. 

The door chimed with wind bells as they stepped inside. Dim lighting, soft jazz, and the mingled scents of whiskey and fresh fruit filled the air.

Joseph led them to a corner booth and slid the menu toward Celeste. "Pick something. They've got non-alcoholic too."

Her finger traced the page for a while before she settled on the house special — a pale blue drink over crushed ice, like a shard of frozen moonlight. 

Joseph ordered only soda water, eyes fixed on her as if trying to memorize every flicker of expression.

They were hopelessly wrapped up in each other.

Victoria had barely sat down when two young men in white shirts approached. 

One was the second male lead from their production, smiling shyly with his phone in hand. "Miss Victoria, could I add you on WhatsApp? I might have projects to ask your advice on."

The other was unfamiliar, his suit cuff embroidered with a family crest — clearly old money. "My father invests in film. I'd like to talk about possible collaborations."

Victoria arched a brow, smiling as she accepted the friend requests. "So this is just an excuse to poach my people, huh?" 

Her easy charm had them laughing in seconds, and soon a small crowd had gathered around their booth.

Seated at the edge, Sophia tapped out a message to her overseas contact. A reply popped up almost instantly: [The Rosalia account has had unusual activity.]

Her brow furrowed. She was about to respond when a glass hit the floor nearby with a sharp crack, making her flinch. 

A man with dyed green hair staggered past, nearly bumping her shoulder. 

The reek of alcohol — thick and cheap — mixed with overpowering cologne, making her lean back instinctively.

"It's too loud in here," she said to Victoria, slipping her phone into her pocket. "I'm going to get some air."

Victoria didn't have time to answer before Henry was already on his feet. "I'll come with you."

He had barely turned when a woman in a red dress intercepted him, dice cup in hand and a teasing smile on her lips. "Mr. Caldwell, stay for a game or two? I'm terrible at it — you'll definitely win."

"No." His voice was cool, his gaze already on the door. 

Without another word, he followed Sophia out, leaving the woman frozen with her smile fading.

The back alley was half-lit, the streetlamp above flickering. 

Sophia leaned against the weathered wall, unwrapped a piece of gum, and let the burst of mint clear her head. 

She had just pulled out her phone to make a call when footsteps sounded behind her.

"Out here alone, sweetheart?" 

The man's voice was thick with alcohol, words slurred.

She turned to see a middle-aged man in a loud floral shirt, tie hanging loose, eyes narrowed as he stared at her. 

She stepped sideways to pass, but his hand shot out to block her path.

His palm was greasy, reeking of smoke. "No rush. Keep me company for a while."