Chapter 85 The Love Assist

Chapter 85 The Love Assist

My body, tense for so long, finally let go.

He stilled for a heartbeat, then those searing hands slid around my waist, pulling me into the solid wall of his chest. The embrace carried no hunger, only a cautious, almost desperate reverence—like something precious lost and found again.

I listened to the steady rhythm inside him, each beat strong and sure, a lullaby that smoothed the jagged edges of my fear.

I was on the verge of sleep when a blast of deafening music shattered the calm.

Keith's room.

The pounding drumline of heavy metal rattled the walls, each strike pounding against my skull. I frowned, shifting against him.

"Ignore it." Arthur's voice rumbled above me.

His arms tightened, holding me closer. One broad palm covered my ear, shielding me from the noise. His skin was warm and dry, fingertips calloused, grazing the curve of my ear in a way that sent fine tremors down my spine.

But the music was still too loud.

A heavy thud—like a fist slamming into the wall—cut it short.

Then came the shouting.

"You're out of your damn mind! Get out!" Keith, all fury.

"Keith! You bastard! You're not walking away from this!" A woman's voice, sharp with defiance, trembling with tears.

Lisa.

Shock jolted me upright. "What's going on? They're fighting?"

"Stay." Arthur's grip was iron, pressing me down.

His face showed no surprise. If anything, there was a flicker of amused detachment.

"Arthur! Lisa is my assistant!" I tried to push his hand away. "What if something happens?"

"Relax." His gaze caught mine, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Your assistant is far tougher than you think."

The phone on the nightstand lit up. Lisa's name flashed across the screen.

I froze.

Why was Lisa calling Arthur?

"When I looked into her background, her mother was in the hospital, critically ill, needing surgery she couldn't afford. I paid for everything, brought in the best doctors. At first, I thought she was clean enough to work for you. But then I heard she'd been in love with Keith for years… and I knew Keith—cold on the surface, but helpless against bold women. So I set the stage."

His voice was deliberate, almost lazy. "You think anyone can be your personal assistant? I vet every piece on the board."

Arthur reached past me for the phone, his chest brushing my cheek, sending a spark through my skin.

He answered and, in a gesture that felt far too deliberate, put it on speaker.

"Mr. Russell." Lisa's voice was thick with emotion, yet electric with excitement. "It's done!"

I blinked. Done?

"He tried to throw me out," Lisa said, breathless but triumphant. "I did what you taught me—I pushed him onto the bed… and kissed him!"

I thought I'd misheard.

Lisa, who could barely speak to Keith without blushing, had pinned him down and kissed him?

A memory surfaced—at the party, Keith's friend whispering something in his ear, Keith glancing at Lisa, then at me, saying, "Your assistant looks innocent… but she knows how to tempt." 

I had assumed he meant something sordid. But now… maybe Keith had already noticed her, and Arthur had simply nudged them toward each other. In the heat of the moment, attraction had done the rest.

And the girl in Keith's room at the party hadn't been Lisa at all. My anger back then had been blind.

"And then?" Arthur's voice carried a coaxing edge, like a devil urging confession.

"Then… he stopped yelling," Lisa whispered. "He said… he's never met a woman as bold as me. Mr. Russell… do you think he likes me?"

Arthur's reply was slow, rich with approval. "Nicely done, Lisa. Your bonus this month—double."

He ended the call without hesitation.

Silence returned.

I lay rigid in his arms, my mind blank, like someone had switched me off. So… all my tears, my packing, my plan to walk out—this entire night—had been nothing more than a script he'd written, all to help my quiet, unexpectedly daring assistant catch the man she wanted.

I was the unwitting prop.

Shame, absurdity, and a bitter edge of laughter tangled inside me.

Arthur handed me the phone, a silent cue to set it back on the nightstand.

I did as told, then turned to him, fixing my gaze on his.

His smile broke free, unhidden now. He leaned in, lips brushing my ear, his breath hot enough to seep deep inside.

"You see, Sophia."

"I told you… I'm a damn good wingman."

The words echoed in my head, over and over. All my heartbreak, my collapse, my self-doubt—every raw emotion tonight—had been part of his plan.

And I hadn't even known.

My anger rose, molten and unstoppable, surging up from my toes to the crown of my head.

I shoved him hard.

"Arthur!"

I sat up, glaring at him, my voice trembling with fury. "You think this is funny?"

His smile faded under my stare. He didn't answer. He sat up too, amber eyes locked on me, unreadable.

"You see me as what? A pawn you can move at will? A tool to push other people's storylines forward?"

My chest heaved. "You watched me cry over your damn party, break over Keith's words, spiral when I heard those voices. You watched me pack my bags, ready to run… and you enjoyed it, didn't you? You felt accomplished?"

The storm inside me broke free, every drop of resentment and humiliation pouring out.

I expected him to snap back, to shut me down with that ruthless dominance he wielded so easily.

But he didn't.

He just listened, quiet, letting me rage. And in that perfect face—flawless, dangerous—there was something I hadn't seen before.

Guilt.