Chapter 98

Chapter 98

"It's confirmed. Lyra did it. She made a copy of your office key in advance, snuck in during lunch when no one was around, and used a lighter to ignite the curtains. She originally wanted to get someone to crack open that custom fireproof safe in your office, but they failed."

Ariana slammed the table in fury. "That bitch! She was trying to burn you alive in there!"

"There's more." Frederick's expression darkened as well. "Sophie, you being locked on the top floor that day—that was also her doing. She jammed the fire escape door from the outside with wire."

My heart sank.

So someone had wanted me dead even back then.

"The person who hired her..." Frederick paused, his voice dropping lower. "We traced that anonymous account. The other party has strong counter-surveillance abilities, but they still left some clues. The instructions given to Lyra were to destroy your collaboration with the Clifford Group at any cost. If that failed, then..."

He didn't finish, but we all understood.

Then kill me.

"Oh my God!" Ariana could no longer contain herself. She shot to her feet, eyes reddening. "It has to be that viper, Monica! No one else! Beauchamp might be awful, but he wouldn't want you dead! Only that woman—she wishes you were dead!"

"Sophie suffered so much for Beauchamp's sake. What right does Monica have to just waltz in and take Sophie's place? Now she's even hiring someone to kill you! That's illegal! Frederick, do you have evidence? Just report her to the police!"

Frederick shook his head. "We don't have evidence directly pointing to Monica yet. That anonymous account's IP address is overseas and has been bounced through multiple servers. It's very difficult to trace back to the actual person."

"Then what? We just let this go?" Ariana paced anxiously.

"Of course not," I spoke up, my voice cold.

I looked at the document on the table filled with evidence of Lyra's crimes, my gaze sharpening bit by bit.

'Monica, since you want to play so badly, I'll play with you to the very end.'

"This is infuriating!" Ariana plopped back down, grabbed her wine glass, downed it in one gulp, then slammed the empty glass on the table, glaring at Frederick across from her. "Drink! If I don't drink you under the table today, I'm not a Williams!"

Frederick raised an eyebrow and picked up his glass too. "Bring it on. Whoever passes out first has to call the other one dad."

The atmosphere completely derailed from there.

The tense, heavy mood was thoroughly disrupted by them.

The dinner table became a battlefield, with red wine, liquor, and beer cycling through.

Ariana had a low tolerance but loved drinking; Frederick refused nothing.

Glass after glass, they went from discussing poetry to philosophy of life, finally competing over whose ex was worse.

I quietly ate my meal, occasionally adding food to Sebastian's plate beside me. He cooperatively ate it all, though his gaze kept drifting to me, intentionally or not.

An hour later.

Two thuds. Ariana and Frederick, one after another, both collapsed face-down on the table.

The world was finally quiet.

I looked at these two unconscious fools with a slight headache.

"I'll have the driver take them home." Sebastian put down his knife and fork, pulling out his phone to make a call.

"Forget it, it's so late." I stopped him. "We have plenty of guest rooms. Let them sleep here."

He glanced at me, didn't object, and put his phone away.

I stood up, about to help Ariana, when my wrist suddenly tightened.

The next second, the world spun.

An irresistible force pulled me around in a circle, and then I sat down hard, falling into a firm, warm embrace.

It was Sebastian.

I didn't know when he'd moved behind me.

At that moment, I was sitting squarely on his lap.

Startled, I instinctively tried to struggle, but his powerful arm locked around my waist.

"Don't move." His deep voice sounded by my ear, warm breath tickling my earlobe.

My entire body went rigid.

One hand circled my waist while his other hand reached over, pinching my cheek and kneading it gently.

I protested softly at the slight pain.

Only then did he ease up, his fingertips lightly caressing my cheek, his voice carrying indescribable undertones. "Too thin. Not an ounce of flesh."

He paused, then added another sentence. "Your body's too frail. Needs training."

Training?

My mind exploded with fireworks.

I recalled what I'd accidentally overheard a few days ago—those young assistants whispering in the break room.

"Do you think Ms. Neville, being so thin, looking like a breeze could knock her over..."

"Could she handle Mr. Clifford's... intensity?"

"I think it's questionable. Mr. Clifford's build, you can tell just by looking..."

My face turned from my ear tips to my neck at visible speed.

"I... I'm tired! I'm going upstairs to sleep!" I practically scrambled out of his embrace, fleeing upstairs without looking back, not even stopping when one of my slippers flew off.

Behind me came an extremely soft, amused sigh.

I fled in complete disarray.

Rushing back to the bedroom and locking the door, I leaned against it, my heart still pounding wildly.

His phrase "needs training" played on loop in my mind like a curse.

Heat spread from my cheeks throughout my entire body. I covered my burning face, pacing the room, unable to calm down no matter what.

A sleepless night.

Early the next morning, sporting faint dark circles, I handed the document bag Frederick had given me, completely unopened, to the police.

With solid evidence, the police opened a case quickly.

Before noon, Lyra was escorted from the company.

Two uniformed officers held her on either side, her hair disheveled, makeup streaked from crying—none of yesterday's arrogance when she'd been stirring up the office remained.

Passing my office door, she suddenly struggled, fixing me with eyes full of malice and shrieking, "Sophia! May you die horribly! You think sending me in means you can rest easy? He won't let you go!"

Her voice cut off abruptly as the police forced her into the elevator.

I stood in place, expressionless, watching the elevator doors slowly close.

The "he" she mentioned probably referred to Beauchamp.

I returned to my office. Just as I sat down, my assistant knocked and entered, carrying a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

"Ms. Neville, there's a Mr. Jennings downstairs asking for you. He says he's your friend." The assistant's expression was somewhat peculiar.

Someone surnamed Jennings.

He actually dared to come.

I picked up the coffee and took a sip, the scalding liquid sliding down my throat, dispelling the last trace of coldness in my heart.

"Send him up."