Chapter 169 The One Who Slept with You Wasn't Me
Thanks to that scandalous video, Jeremy was stripped of his position in less than a week.
Once news of his dismissal broke, all his previous misconduct started crawling out of the woodwork. Suddenly he was public enemy number one, facing serious legal consequences.
One evening after work, Quinley was heading home when she spotted Jeremy's secretary lurking near her apartment complex entrance. He'd clearly been waiting for her.
"Ms. Promise." He rushed over, blocking her path. "Mr. Davis wants to see you."
There it was. The moment she'd been waiting for.
"Maybe another time. I've got plans tonight."
Quinley played it cool, not committing.
"Ms. Promise, please. Mr. Davis has been waiting." The secretary wasn't backing down.
Quinley made a show of hesitating before agreeing. But she refused his car—hailed her own cab instead.
Jeremy was currently detained. The secretary pulled some strings to get Quinley through security and into the visiting room.
When she finally saw him, the change was shocking. They'd only been apart since Monday, but the man looked like he'd aged ten years overnight. Completely broken down and haggard.
He shuffled toward her with an old man's gait. She sat there watching him like he was a total stranger.
Pure hatred burned in Jeremy's bloodshot eyes.
"Why?" His voice was hoarse. "Why did you do this to me?"
He dropped into the chair across from her, glaring with barely contained rage.
Quinley shrugged innocently. "Mr. Davis, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."
"Cut the crap." He leaned forward. "The woman I slept with that night was you. I know it was. So how did it turn into some prostitute? How the hell did solicitation charges end up on my record?"
Their eyes locked. Jeremy was desperate for answers, even though knowing the truth now wouldn't change a damn thing for him.
Quinley let out a cold little laugh. "Mr. Davis, don't make things up. Sure, I had drinks with you that night. I got tipsy. You're the one who left me at that BBQ place and took off in a cab. Don't you remember?"
She paused, letting that sink in. "As for what happened after—how dare you accuse me like this? The Mr. Davis I knew would never solicit prostitutes." Her voice dropped. "So let me ask you something. Is it true? Did you really do it?"
Jeremy's laugh was bitter and sharp. "Ms. Promise, drop the act. You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this? Did Zachary put you up to it?"
"Mr. Davis, you're completely wrong about me. I'm just a secretary—how could I possibly pull off something this elaborate?" Quinley's voice stayed measured, reasonable. "And Mr. Jennings? You know him. What would he possibly gain from destroying you?"
She kept denying everything, and Jeremy had no proof. He'd been blackout drunk that night—couldn't remember a damn thing clearly.
But he couldn't figure out who else would want to set him up this way.
"Think about it, Mr. Davis." Quinley's tone turned almost sympathetic. "Did you offend someone recently? Maybe someone laid a trap and you just... walked right into it."
Her helpful suggestion sent Jeremy's paranoid mind spinning. He was notorious in political circles. Making enemies came with the territory. Using dirty tricks wasn't exactly uncommon.
"I need you to do something for me." Jeremy abruptly changed gears.
"What?"
Instead of answering, Jeremy licked his finger and wrote some numbers on the table between them. "Just tell Zachary this."
Quinley stared at the digits, genuinely confused this time. "What do these numbers mean?"
Jeremy slumped back in his chair, those once-calculating eyes now dull and lifeless. "He'll know."
"How do you know I'll actually do it?"
Quinley memorized the numbers but let her expression show zero interest in cooperating. Was this a test? Another trap? She had to stay sharp.
"Zachary's your boss."
"Mr. Davis, in your current situation, people are running from you like you've got the plague." Quinley's voice turned small, uncertain. "If I help you and end up in trouble too... I'm really not brave, Mr. Davis. I can't handle this kind of heat."
Jeremy's laugh was cold and knowing. "Not brave? Sweetheart, you'll toughen up with practice."
Quinley went quiet, like she was wrestling with the decision internally.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, she finally spoke. "I could do this for you. But I need your help with something too."
"Spit it out."
Jeremy gave her permission to continue.
"Fifteen years ago, when you were stationed in Rosewood City, you oversaw construction of an orphanage. Luck House. Do you remember it?"
At the mention of ancient history, Jeremy's expression turned suspicious. Guarded. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I remember."
"After you got transferred to the capital, Luck House shut down." Quinley kept her voice steady. "I want to ask you about someone who worked there."
"Who?"
"The director. Luke Pierre."
Ever since Adela had mentioned Luck House, Quinley had Detective Wilson digging. Turned out the orphanage had direct ties to Jeremy. And Director Luke had vanished into thin air—they couldn't find a single trace of him.
"Why are you looking for him?" Jeremy's whole demeanor shifted. He was clearly rattled by this topic.
"I'll be honest." Quinley's voice softened, turned vulnerable. "I spent time there as a kid. Got lucky—someone adopted me. But now I want to find my biological parents. From what I heard, only Luke has records from back then, so..."
The lie came out smooth and believable. Orphanages were full of kids with no parents. Some got adopted by kind families. Others drifted through society like dandelion seeds in the wind.
Quinley had no idea what went down fifteen years ago—why the orphanage vanished the second Jeremy left Rosewood City. All she knew was she needed to find Luke.
"Luke's dead."
The lie came out flat. Unconvincing.
But Detective Wilson had confirmed Luke was alive. He'd probably just changed his identity and gone underground.
If Jeremy was lying, he was definitely hiding something.
"Then I can't help you." Quinley stood abruptly and headed for the door. "Find someone else."
"Is that really why you want him?" Jeremy's voice stopped her. "Just to find your parents?"
Quinley turned back, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. Real-looking tears.
"Mr. Davis, you're not an orphan. You don't understand what it's like." Her voice cracked perfectly. "Everyone has parents. Everyone except me. I've spent my whole life wondering why I wasn't good enough to keep."
The tears started falling for real now. "I just grew up. I need to know why they abandoned me. I deserve that much, don't I?"
Jeremy said nothing. Quinley stopped at the door, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs.
"You know where Luke is, don't you, Mr. Davis?"
Silence stretched between them like a wire pulled taut.
"Of course I know."
Jeremy's voice was barely a whisper.
Quinley turned around and carefully wiped the tears from her face. Her expression shifted—all business again. "Don't worry. Whatever you asked me to do—I'll get it done. You have my word."
She made it sound like a blood oath.
Jeremy finally cracked.
"Go to the Davis family estate. Find a butler there—his name's Hudson." He paused. "He knows where Luke is."