Chapter 70: Charlotte’s Schemes

Kristoff turned toward Charlotte and extended a hand to help her back to the VIP table.

His gaze lingered on her for only a second. Just a second. But in that brief moment, everything went wrong.

When his gaze returned to Isobel, his eyes widened.

Half a dozen glasses were flying through the air. Amber liquid arced beneath the ballroom lights, glittering like shards of gold. And all of it was headed straight for Isobel.

The crash came a heartbeat later.

Shattered glass exploded across the floor.

Several drinks splashed over Isobel, soaking the front of her dress.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"Isobel!"

Kristoff instinctively stepped forward. The hand supporting Charlotte loosened as concern surged through him.

He needed to see if Isobel was hurt. He wanted to make sure none of the broken glass had struck her.

But before he could take another step, Charlotte tightened her grip around his arm.

Her fingers dug into his sleeve.

"Don’t leave me, Kristoff," she pleaded, her voice trembling pitifully. "Everyone is already staring at me. If you walk away now, I’ll be utterly humiliated."

Kristoff hesitated.

While his attention was divided, a faint smile flickered across Charlotte’s lips.

Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

Meanwhile, Morgan had already reached Isobel’s side.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low and unexpectedly gentle.

His eyes swept over her from head to toe, searching for injuries. When he was satisfied she wasn’t bleeding, his expression hardened.

The warmth vanished instantly.

He turned toward the waiter and the man with the oversized glasses. The look in his eyes was enough to make both men pale.

The stranger’s face drained of color.

"I-I’m sorry," he stammered. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. I only wanted an autograph."

Morgan’s gaze sharpened. He didn’t believe him. Not for a second.

Before he could speak, a tall and bulky man in a black suit appeared beside him as if he had materialized out of thin air.

The bodyguard stood silently, awaiting instructions.

"Investigate this," Morgan ordered coldly.

"Yes, sir."

Without another word, the bodyguard seized the trembling stranger by the arm and led him away.

Morgan shrugged off his suit jacket.

The expensive fabric settled over Isobel’s shoulders, shielding her soaked dress from the curious eyes around them.

The gesture drew immediate attention. Whispers spread through the crowd.

Standing several feet away, Kristoff watched everything unfold. His jaw tightened. An unfamiliar irritation coiled inside him.

He didn’t like seeing Morgan so close to her... especially, the concern in the man’s eyes.

And he especially didn’t like the way Isobel looked wrapped in Morgan’s jacket.

As though she belonged under his protection.

"There is a suite on the twelfth floor," Morgan said. "Go upstairs and get cleaned up."

Isobel looked down at her ruined dress before offering him a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Boss."

Morgan’s expression softened.

"Go."

And as Isobel disappeared toward the elevators, neither man noticed the calculating look that flashed through Charlotte’s eyes.

Isobel was dripping from the chest down. She would not mind if it was just one glass but there were half a dozen of them.

She took the keycard from Morgan and headed to the elevator.

...

Meanwhile, Charlotte refused to let go of Kristoff’s arm. The moment they were away from the crowd, her composure began to crack.

Tears shimmered in her eyes as she lowered her head.

"I can’t stay here anymore," she whispered. "Everyone must be laughing at me."

Her voice trembled with humiliation.

"Please accompany me upstairs. I don’t want to face anyone right now."

Kristoff glanced toward the elevators where Isobel had disappeared moments ago.

A strange restlessness settled in his chest.

He wanted to know if she was alright.

Whether the broken glass had cut her.

Whether she had managed to clean herself up.

But Charlotte’s grip on his arm tightened.

"I was the one invited to sing today," she continued bitterly. "If Isobel hadn’t volunteered, none of this would have happened."

A shadow crossed Kristoff’s face. His expression darkened instantly.

For the first time that day, he felt an irrational urge to defend Isobel. He knew that the accident had nothing to do with her . Neither did Charlotte’s embarrassment.

Still, when he looked down at Charlotte’s reddened eyes and trembling lips, the harsh words that rose to his tongue never left his mouth.

Instead, he softened his voice.

"Alright," he said quietly.

Charlotte immediately looked up.

"I’ll accompany you."

Relief flooded her face. She slipped her arm through his as though claiming him.

And together, they headed toward the elevators.

Yet even as he walked beside Charlotte, Kristoff found his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

To a woman on the twelfth floor wrapped in another man’s jacket.

...

Kristoff left the grand ballroom with Charlotte clinging to his arm.

The sounds of music and conversation gradually faded behind them as they crossed the marble foyer toward the bank of elevators.

Charlotte continued talking, venting her frustration and humiliation, but Kristoff barely heard a word.

His thoughts were elsewhere. On a woman in a soaked green dress. On the concern that had flashed across Morgan’s face.

On the jacket now draped over her shoulders.

The irritation in his chest only grew.

When they reached the elevators, several doors were opening and closing as guests came and went.

Then something caught his eye. One particular elevator. The doors were already sliding shut.

And through the narrowing gap, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure.

His heartbeat kicked.

Without thinking, he broke into a stride pulling Charlotte behind here.

"Stop!"

The command rang through the foyer.

Inside the elevator, Isobel froze. She would recognize that voice anywhere.

The doors, which had been inches from closing completely, slid open again.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Kristoff stood outside the elevator, his chest rising and falling slightly from his hurried pace.

Inside, Isobel stood alone.

Morgan’s suit jacket hung loosely over her shoulders, the dark fabric swallowing her slender frame.

A few damp strands of hair clung to her neck, evidence of the accident downstairs.

The sight hit Kristoff harder than it should have.

Because for one irrational moment, all he could see was another man’s jacket wrapped around his lover.

And he hated it. Their eyes locked. The air between them suddenly felt far too charged.

Neither of them noticed Charlotte standing a few steps behind, her expression slowly turning ugly.