Just My Hockey Roommate’s Filthy Desires by Esther Pen novel Chapter 297

Chapter 297

JULIAN’S POV

45

35 Vouchers

The concrete floor of the holding cell was freezing cold, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I sat on the narrow wooden bench, my hands still smelling of damp mud, rain, and the metallic tang of police handcuffs. The cold seeped right through my wet clothes, making my skin feel numb. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was the terrifying image of Brandon Sterling stepping through those study doors, pointing his men’s guns at my chest, and taking my wife and daughter away from me.

My mind was spinning out of control. I pulled my knees up to my chest, my teeth chattering from the cold drafts blowing through the heavy iron bars.

Leonie had abandoned me.

She was supposed to be waiting near the edge of the property line with the getaway car. She was the one who bought the signal jammer to cut off the security feeds. She was the one who handed me the detailed blueprints of the utility tunnel, assuring me that once I got Aria and Amelia out of the house, we would drive straight to the private airstrip. She had promised that everything was planned out, that Brandon wouldn’t even know what happened until we were already out of the country.

But when the police dragged me out of the estate in plastic zip–ties, her car was nowhere to be seen. The dark side road was completely empty, with nothing but the pouring rain hitting the asphalt.

She had used me. She had set me up to take all the blame while she ran away like a coward. She knew I was desperate enough to do anything to get my family back, and she took advantage of it.

The heavy metal door at the end of the hallway creaked open, breaking the heavy silence of the precinct. The sharp, rhythmic clicking of expensive leather shoes echoed against the concrete walls, followed by the deep, booming voice of the police chief.

“Right this way, Mr. Vance,” the chief said, his voice unusually polite and nervous. “We just finished processing the final paperwork.”

I looked up slowly, pushing my messy, damp hair out of my eyes.

Standing on the other side of the iron bars was my father, Arthur Vance.

He looked immaculate in his tailored charcoal suit, his graying hair combed back perfectly without a single strand out of place. His face was set in a hard, expressionless line, his dark eyes looking down at me with cold, bitter disgust.

Standing right beside him were three senior defense lawyers from the city’s top law firm, holding thick leather briefcases and looking equally stern. “Get him out of there,” Arthur said coldly, not even bothering to look the police chief in the eye.

The guard rushed over, his keys jingling loudly as he unlocked the cell door. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

I stood up on shaky legs, my joints stiff and aching from sitting on the hard bench for hours. “Father… you

came.”

1/3

12:59 Mon, Aug 24

My Hockey Roommate’s Filthy Desires

45

as vouchers

Arthur didn’t say a single word. He didn’t offer a hand, nor did he ask if I was okay or if I needed a doctor. He simply turned on his heel and began walking down the long corridor toward the exit.

“The judge granted temporary bail under very strict conditions, Mr. Vance,” the head lawyer whispered to me as we hurried to keep up with my father’s fast pace. “Your father had to leverage significant political favors and post a multi–million–dollar cash bond to override the prosecutor’s no–bail request. You are officially in his personal custody until the preliminary hearing.”

We walked out through the heavy glass doors of the police precinct into the damp night air. The moment my shoes touched the wet pavement, a blinding wave of white camera flashes exploded directly in my face.

“Julian, did you break into your girlfriend’s estate?”

“Is it true you used a weapon against your ex–girlfriend?”

“Are the kidnapping allegations true?”

A horde of reporters and news cameramen surged forward, shoving microphones toward my mouth and yelling over one another. The bright lights burned my tired eyes, making me stumble backward on the steps.

Before I could say anything, Arthur’s hand shot out, grabbing the back of my collar with a tight, violent grip. He shoved me forcefully into the back seat of a waiting black luxury SUV, slamming the heavy door shut behind us before the reporters could reach the handles.

The driver instantly hit the gas, pulling away from the curb and leaving the flashing cameras behind in the rain.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify