Bound by the Past, Locked by the Heart novel Chapter 157

Randal stood by the sofa, his eyes locked on Willa, hiding a trace of subtle anxiety.

Willa walked over and stood between them.

Iris stared at her, scanning her up and down to make sure she was okay.

"Willa, what happened?"

Willa shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Fine?" Iris's voice pitched up. "If you're fine, why weren't you answering my texts, and why is your phone off?"

Willa was rendered speechless.

Iris didn't care about the details anymore. With a dark expression, she marched over, grabbed Willa by the wrist, and yanked her toward the door.

"Let's go. You're coming with me right now. The salon already started. I'll help you explain things to Martin."

Two bodyguards stepped out as if acting on a silent command, instantly blocking their path.

"Randal, are you seriously this despicable?" Iris whipped her head around, glaring at him coldly. "You're keeping her here like this?"

Randal looked at Willa, his tone entirely unreadable. "Wills, do you want to go?"

Willa nodded honestly. "Yes. And you promised I could."

Randal's brow furrowed, falling into a tense silence.

Iris lost her patience and pulled out her phone, ready to dial.

"Fine. You want to keep her hostage? I'll call the cops and let them decide if this counts as false imprisonment."

The two bodyguards stepped forward, preparing to snatch Iris's phone.

Right at that moment, Randal finally spoke, his voice freezing cold. "Both of you, step aside."

Willa blinked in surprise, realizing his order was directed at the bodyguards blocking the door.

The bodyguards immediately moved out of the way.

Seeing the opening, Iris dragged Willa out the door at a brisk pace.

"Wills, I'll drive you," Randal's voice echoed from behind as his footsteps quickly closed the distance, stopping right on her heels.

Iris turned back, shooting him a glare. "She's going to a professional salon, Randal, not a prison transfer. Why the hell are you tagging along?"

The hall was spacious, lined with potted plants along the walls. Rows of seats filled the center, and a projector screen at the front played a continuous loop of documentaries about traditional artisan heritage.

A decent crowd had gathered—about twenty or thirty people—sitting in small clusters, the atmosphere buzzing with conversation.

Martin was standing nearby, chatting with a few attendees.

Spotting Willa, he quickly walked over, smiling as he extended a hand. "Willa, you finally made it."

Willa shook his hand politely, a bright smile on her face. "Mr. Jenson, I'm so sorry I'm late."

"Not at all, we just started."

Martin laughed, but as his gaze inadvertently drifted past her to the entrance, his smile completely froze. He yanked his hand back as if he had been burned, sudden panic washing over his face.

Willa followed his line of sight.

Randal was standing a short distance away, his predatory gaze locked dead onto their recently separated hands.

Iris frowned, visibly irritated. "Why did he come inside?"

Martin's face drained of color. The terrifying memory of the country club incident was clearly still fresh in his mind.