Chapter 111
[ 498 words ]
Chapter 111:
“Did Washington United suddenly start paying their intern nurses a million dollars a year?” Alston joked, though his eyes were sharp with genuine curiosity. “This is the most exclusive, locked-down event in the city.”
Caroline’s smile tightened. She couldn’t breathe a word about Jarrod.
“I’m just a plus-one,” Caroline lied smoothly. “A doctor I know needed a date to fill a seat.”
Alston didn’t push it. He chuckled and reached into his pocket to pull out a crisp white handkerchief, stepping slightly closer and pointing a finger at his own mouth.
“You have a tiny bit of macaron right there,” Alston said warmly, offering her the cloth.
Caroline felt a flush of embarrassment. She took the handkerchief and quickly wiped the corner of her lip.
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
Alston leaned back against the edge of the mahogany table, crossed his arms over his chest, and groaned.
“You’ve found the only sane corner in the building,” Alston remarked, a cynical edge to his voice, rubbing his forehead. “Out there, the political theater is in full swing. I’ve just escaped a lengthy, agonizing dissertation on golf handicaps that felt more like a filibuster. The air out there is pure, concentrated poison.”
Caroline let out a soft laugh. It felt incredibly grounding to talk to a normal human being who hated this world as much as she did.
N𝘰𝗏el𝗌 𝗶n 𝘵𝘳𝗲𝗇d o𝗇 𝗀𝘢𝗹no𝗏𝖾𝗹𝘀.𝘤𝗈𝗆
“I completely agree,” Caroline said, stepping slightly closer to the table.
They fell into an easy, comfortable rhythm, complaining about the absurdities of Washington’s elite. Alston looked at her eyes, sparkling in the dim light of the crystal lamp. A sudden, warm wave of admiration washed over him. She looked stunning.
Alston uncrossed his arms and took a small step forward, closing the physical distance between them to less than two feet.
“It really is great to see you, Caroline,” Alston said, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. “How have you been holding up?”
Before Caroline could open her mouth to answer, the heavy wooden door of the parlor exploded open.
The door slammed violently against the wall with a deafening crack.
Caroline and Alston both jumped. They whipped their heads toward the entrance.
Jarrod Romero stood in the doorway.
He looked like a god of war descending to execute a slaughter. His massive chest heaved. His gray eyes were entirely black, burning with a psychotic, unfiltered rage. He stared directly at the two feet of space between Caroline and Alston.
The moment Jarrod saw his wife smiling at another man in a dark, secluded room, the last remaining thread of his sanity snapped.
The temperature in the parlor plummeted to absolute zero. The air grew so heavy it was hard to breathe.
Jarrod stepped into the room. His heavy leather shoes hit the carpet with terrifying, predatory force. He didn’t say a word. He just marched straight toward them.
Caroline’s operative instincts screamed at her to run. The sheer violence radiating from his body was suffocating. She instinctively took a step backward, but her calves hit the edge of the velvet armchair. She was trapped.
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