Chapter 267 Behind the Study Door

Chapter 267 Behind the Study Door
Thirty minutes later, the restaurant was unrecognizable.

The warm hum of music and laughter had vanished, swallowed by the crackle of police radios and the bright click of cameras. Broken glass crunched underfoot, glittering like diamonds beneath the sweep of red and blue lights pouring through the shattered front windows. Most customers had already been ushered outside, but a few still sat huddled under emergency blankets while paramedics checked them over.

Marita sat beside Lucius near the back, clutching a paper cup of water she couldn’t bring herself to drink. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the host—his polite smile as he’d pulled out her chair, then the sudden bloom of red across his chest.

A soft sound escaped her throat. Lucius’s large hand covered hers immediately, warm and steady.

“Don’t force yourself to look,” he murmured.

“Mi… trying,” she whispered, the words thick with her accent.

A uniformed officer approached. “The detectives are ready for you now.”

Lucius helped her to her feet, his arm a solid anchor around her waist as they crossed the ruined dining room. Two men waited near the shattered entrance.

“Detective Dalgote,” the older one said, silver threading his dark hair. His expression was carefully blank as he studied the bullet holes riddling the walls.

“Detective Riggs,” the broader, younger man added, his sharp blue eyes taking in everything at once.

Dalgote’s gaze flicked briefly to Lucius before settling on her with practiced gentleness. “I’m sorry you both had to go through this tonight.”

Marita managed a weak nod. “Tank yu.”

Behind them, crime scene techs worked methodically, photographing the chaos. Riggs wandered a few steps away and crouched beside a corner booth, its wooden divider chewed up by bullets.

“These impacts are concentrated,” he muttered.

The restaurant manager hurried over. “Is something wrong, Detective?”

Riggs pointed at the ravaged booth. “Who was sitting here tonight?”

“Mr. Ashbourne and his guest,” the manager answered without hesitation. “That’s his regular table.”

Riggs’s eyes lifted to Lucius. “Mr. Ashbourne?”

Dalgote’s brow furrowed. Riggs rose slowly, still staring at the damage.

“Most of the rounds are right here,” Riggs said. “The shooters barely touched the opposite side of the room. They opened fire the second that van stopped.”

The implication hit Marita like ice water down her spine. She looked up at Lucius.

“They were shooting at us?” Her voice came out small.

Lucius’s face remained unreadable, but the temperature around him seemed to drop. “I don’t know.”

Dalgote watched him closely. “Mr. Ashbourne… can you think of anyone who might want you dead?”

Lucius gave a small, almost careless shrug. “I work with my cousin, Ravial Ashbourne. He runs Ashbourne Global. Successful men collect enemies the way others collect stamps, Detective.”

“Disliking someone is one thing,” Dalgote said evenly. “Showing up with assault rifles is another.”

Riggs rejoined them, expression thoughtful. “No robbery. No demands or attempt to enter the building. They fired… and left.”

Dalgote finished the thought. “Which suggests they came for a specific target.”

Marita’s chest tightened painfully. Me? Lucius? Both of us?

Dalgote turned to her, his face softening. “Miss… I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I like your accent.”

Despite everything, a tiny, surprised smile tugged at her lips. “Oh… thank you.”

“Where are you from?”

“Vanuatu,” she answered softly.

Detective Dalgote smiled faintly. "I thought so. It's a beautiful accent.”

"Tank yu.”

"How long have you been in the States?”

Before she could say more, Lucius cut in smoothly. “She’s been in the States long enough to build a life here.”

Dalgote’s gaze sharpened as it shifted to him. “I was asking your fiancée, Mr. Ashbourne.”

“And I answered,” Lucius replied, voice calm but edged with steel.

A beat of tense silence stretched between them. Dalgote studied Lucius for a long moment before jotting something in his notebook. “I see.”

Later, after the detectives finally left:

Marita glanced up at Lucius as they stepped toward the exit and to their car, his hand resting possessively at the small of her back.

"Why yu no let mi answer?" she asked quietly.

He guided her through the broken glass, careful to keep her close. “Because, little bird,” he said, voice low and intimate, “you don’t owe strangers pieces of yourself just because they ask.”

"But... he one detective." she asked quietly.

“Exactly.”

The drive home passed in heavy silence.

Rain began to fall halfway through the journey, soft droplets tapping against the windshield as the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and crimson.

I sat beside Lucius, staring out without really seeing anything.

My mind kept replaying the restaurant.

I slowly turned my head toward him.

Lucius's profile was illuminated by passing streetlights. His jaw remained tight, one hand resting on the steering wheel while the other drummed once against the leather before becoming still again.

He looked calm.

Too calm.

Like none of this had surprised him.

A knot twisted in my stomach.

“…Lucius?”

His eyes stayed fixed on the road. “Hm?”

“You really no know why dey come after us?”

The silence that followed felt endless. Finally, he answered.

“No.”

Just one word. Nothing more.

It should have comforted me. Instead, it only made the unease sink deeper.

I studied him a moment longer, then turned back to the blurred lights outside. Neither of us spoke again.

Nearly forty minutes later, the elevator doors opened onto the private floor of his penthouse. The familiar warmth of the apartment wrapped around us as we stepped inside, but it didn’t settle the restlessness in my chest.

Lucius then turned, his expression softening.

“Little bird.”

I looked up at him.

“Go take a hot shower,” he said gently, brushing his thumb across my cheek before pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You’ve had enough for one night.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll join you soon.”

I nodded slowly. “…Okay.”

He turned and walked toward the study without another word. The door clicked shut behind him with a quiet finality that made my skin prickle.

Lucius never shut me out, not like this.

I stood frozen in the hallway for a long moment, then headed toward the bedroom.

Yet…

I couldn't stop thinking about the detectives.

Quietly, I stepped back into the hallway. The apartment was too silent. I padded across the polished floors until I reached the study door. It was firmly closed.

Heart beating faster, I hesitated, feeling guilty… then leaned in and pressed my ear against the wood.

Nothing.

No low voice or scrape of a chair. Just thick, unnatural silence on the other side.

I frowned.

What de…?

Was he just sitting in there? Thinking? Working?

Or doing something he didn’t want me to know about?

My fingers twitched at my sides. For one reckless second, I almost reached for the handle.