Chapter 260: This Wasn’t Your Fault

The supervisor’s expression had already begun to freeze in horror, realizing Master Reed hadn’t even spared her a single glance.

Yet, driven by desperate entitlement, she still tried to scramble forward, ready to scream out her biased side of the story and accuse April of attacking her.

Before she could open her mouth, heavy, casual footsteps echoed down the corridor.

"I was getting tired of wait—"

Nat’s drawling words hung in the air, caught halfway in his throat the absolute second his sharp eyes landed on the state his sweetheart was in.

In an instant, his laid-back posture vanished, replaced by a raw, predatory rage. His eyes burned as he snarled. "Who wants to die?"

His gaze swept terrifyingly over the shocked crowd before dropping straight down to the trembling, oil-soaked woman on the floor.

Completely ignoring the foul kitchen grease, Nat stepped forward and grabbed the supervisor by her collar, lifting her off her feet effortlessly with a single hand like a ragdoll.

"Is it you?" he growled, his voice dropping into a lethal, guttural rasp.

"I... I... I’m the victim here!" she stuttered, her face turning pale as she squirmed in his iron grip, terror seizing her chest. "She... she dumped it on herself! She attacked me!"

"Keep lying and you’ll lose your tongue," Nat growled, his grip tightening until her feet dangled uselessly above the slick floor.

"Yes, Nat, the oil on me is my fault," April spoke up, her voice completely calm despite the mess clinging to her coat. "But everything else? That’s all on her. She had her chance to let me walk away, but she insisted I apologize, clean the oil off the floor, and was being a huge pain in the ass."

April tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes completely unblinking, showing no remorse whatsoever.

"I got mad and, well..." She let out a small, quiet breath. "I lost my temper."

Just then, rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway as Samuel and Emily hurried back around the corner.

Emily stopped dead in her tracks, her hands flying to her mouth as a horrified gasp escaped her lips. "April!"

Samuel took in the sight of the grease soaking through Xavier’s jacket, the dark stains splattered across April’s neck, and the heavy leather whip lying discarded in the foul pool on the floor.

His usual composure shattered in a single second. Without hesitation, he dropped straight down onto one knee, his posture stiff with deep, agonizing guilt.

He had known it was a bad idea to leave her unescorted in a service area, yet he had yielded to her command regardless. And now...

"Miss April," Samuel called out, his voice tight, his dark eyes fixed on the floor as he prepared to request the severest punishment for his lapse in vigilance. "I—"

"It’s fine, Samuel," April cut in smoothly, shaking her head before he could finish the sentence. She could already tell exactly what he was about to say. "Stand up. This wasn’t your fault."

Nat scoffed, his grip on the trembling supervisor tightening until the woman let out a strangled gasp. "It might not be his fault, but someone is going to pay for making a mess of you."

Xavier turned back to April, gently pulling the edges of his coat tighter around her shoulders to shield her from the chilly draft of the corridor. "Let’s get you back to the villa immediately."

Emily rushed over to April’s side, her face pale with worry. "Are you okay, April? Does it hurt?"

"I’m fine, Emily." April murmured, though a dark glint lingered in her eyes as she looked down at her ruined outfit. "I just need a very long, very hot shower. I don’t think I can get in the car like this. It’s very uncomfortable."

"Where can we find a suit with a bathroom for you to clean up at?" Xavier asked, though it didn’t look like he was asking her specifically.

"There is a room like that on the VIP floor," a voice suddenly cut through the heavy silence of the corridor.

All eyes turned toward the bend in the hallway, revealing Philippe standing near the service doors in his chef’s whites.

As soon as every gaze in the hall locked onto him, Philippe felt the sudden, suffocating pressure of the room press down on his chest. He cleared his throat, taking a small step back as his shoulders instinctively stiffened.

"What did you say?" Nat asked with a gruff voice.

"I... I mean, I stumbled on one when I got lost earlier," his voice wavered slightly, shrinking back in genuine fear that he might offend the high-status figures commanding the hall.

"Can you take us there?!" Emily asked immediately, taking a step toward him with wide, pleading eyes.

"I... sure," Philippe stammered, looking between the towering mafia boss, the icy corporate magnate, and the sharp-eyed assistant. It wasn’t as if he could say no when the country’s big shots were staring at him like that.

"Lead the way," Xavier commanded smoothly.

Before April could protest, Xavier stepped forward and effortlessly scooped her up into his arms, bridal-style, keeping his suit jacket wrapped securely around her to shield her from the chilly draft and public view.

As he turned to follow the young chef, Xavier cast a single, deadly glance back toward the trembling, grease-soaked supervisor who was still cowering on the floor and then at Nat.

"Deal with that," Xavier said, his tone devoid of any human warmth.

Nat scoffed, a dark, terrifying glint flashing across his eyes as he stepped between the woman and the exit, promising absolute ruin for anyone who dared cross his sweetheart.

"You don’t even need to tell me," Nat drawled as he let her down roughly, his knuckles cracking with a sickening pop in the quiet corridor. "I’ll make sure she wishes for death."

Philippe swallowed hard, his stomach dropping at the raw display of power, before turning quickly on his heel to lead the way back toward the VIP private suites. "This... this way, please."