On the day of Mr. Harris's longevity celebration, Amanda didn't give a damn whether Javier came to pick her up. She went straight to the Solis estate and arrived at the party on her parents' arms.
The hall was packed with elite guests from around the globe. The sheer scale of the crowd gave Amanda a headache. She was dragged through a sea of introductions by Milena Solis for over an hour before she finally managed to slip away.
"God, I'm exhausted!"
Seeking refuge, Amanda stepped onto a deserted balcony and took a deep breath of fresh air. Instead of oxygen, she inhaled a thick cloud of cigarette smoke.
"Cough! Cough!"
Amanda choked, looking around with a frown. In the shadows, she caught the faint orange glow of a lit cigarette. "Who's there?"
The figure stepped out, crushing the cigarette beneath his heel. "What are you doing out here?"
Amanda's eyes widened. "Uncle Quentin!"
Quentin Harris tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. He reached out and gave her forehead a playful flick. "What did you just call me?"
Amanda blinked, momentarily stunned by the intimate gesture. She quickly changed the subject to hide her fluttering heart. "Why are you out here? Grandpa is inside and he's about to be swamped with guests."
Quentin leaned back against the railing, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's good to keep him busy occasionally. It keeps him young."
Amanda pursed her lips, trying to hide a smile. "I don't know if having a son like you is a blessing or a curse for Grandpa."
Quentin watched her, his gaze softening. In her flowing blue dress with her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, she looked ethereal. For a split second, he didn't see the woman before him; he saw the mischievous little girl who used to chase him around the garden.
"Are things alright between you and Javier?" he asked quietly.
The mention of that name instantly soured Amanda's mood. She pouted. "Can we please not talk about him?"
Seeing her frown, Quentin didn't push. He assumed they were just having another petty argument.
"Young Master, the Old Master has arrived," Butler Wayne announced, appearing at the door with a respectful bow.
Quentin nodded. He turned back to Amanda, the wind catching a few strands of her hair and blowing them toward his hand. "I have to go. If you're bored, go inside. It's too cold out here, and I hear there's a chocolate cake stand near the buffet that you'd like."
Amanda blinked at him and nodded. As she watched him walk away, she felt a strange warmth that had nothing to do with the weather.
Following Quentin's advice, Amanda found the dessert station. She had just started enjoying a piece of rich chocolate cake when a shadow fell over her.
"Mandy. What were you and my uncle talking about just now?"
Amanda stopped eating and looked at Javier with bone-chilling indifference. "What we talk about is none of your business."
Javier's eyes narrowed. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close, his voice a low, possessive hiss. "I told you to stay away from him."
Amanda wrenched her arm free. Having learned from their last encounter, she took several steps back to stay out of striking distance. "He hasn't committed any crimes, Javier. I have no reason to avoid him." She looked him up and down with a mocking sneer. "In fact, he seems like a much better man than certain people I know."
Javier stared at her for a beat, then suddenly burst into a dry, hollow laugh. "Better, is he? Then keep your eyes open and watch carefully." He drained his wine glass, his smile returning like a mask. "I'll give you a little more time to be rebellious. But next time, don't be so stubborn. My patience isn't infinite."
After Javier left, Amanda felt a prickle of unease. Her phone buzzed in her clutch—it was Vance Walters.
"Everything is ready," Vance said. "When do you want to leak the files?"
Amanda's eyes sharpened. "Eleven o'clock tonight."
"Understood."
Hanging up, Amanda felt a surge of adrenaline. She picked up a glass of wine and finished it in one go. The private detective she'd hired had hit the jackpot. She didn't just have proof of Javier and Elena's adultery; she had enough financial dirt to bury them both.
She drank another glass, then another. The thought of watching the "golden couple" be publicly torn apart made her giddy with anticipation. She lost track of how much she'd consumed until the room began to spin.
"I need to lie down..." she muttered to a passing waiter.
"Of course, Miss. Please, take the elevator to the second floor. Room 209 is vacant. Shall I assist you?"
"I've got it," Amanda slurred, waving him off.
She staggered upstairs, her vision blurring. 204... 205... 209! She fumbled with the handle. To her surprise, the door creaked open. She hiccuped, stepped inside, and—with a final burst of drunken caution—locked the door behind her. She collapsed onto the bed, the world fading to black.
Downstairs, Butler Wayne whispered to Mr. Harris, "Old Master, the Young Master has left the hall. He looked a bit... unusual."
Mr. Harris, exhausted from a night of greeting world leaders, snorted. "What's unusual about Quentin being antisocial? I need to get that boy married. He looks at every woman in the room like they're made of stone."
Javier appeared at their side, wearing his most charming smile. "Grandpa."
"Ah, Javier. Go find your uncle and tell him to come back and help me receive these guests."
Javier's eyes flickered with a hidden light. He looked at his grandfather with feigned apology. "I already looked for him, Grandpa. It seems Uncle Quentin was quite busy... he's already left the estate."
Mr. Harris sighed, waving a hand in frustration. "Typical. Fine, you stay with me then."
As Javier helped the old man stand, Butler Wayne stood frozen. He knew Quentin hadn't left. He had seen him go upstairs to rest in his private suite—Room 209.
Wayne looked at the stairs, his heart hammering with a sudden, inexplicable sense of dread.