The Platonic Trap novel Chapter 118

Pausing for a moment, Alistair offered a rare explanation. "The little cat I keep at home is sick. She needs someone there."

The men exchanged bewildered glances, their eyes wide with disbelief.

He was compressing a major corporate schedule... for a cat?!

But as much as they internally screamed at the absurdity, no one dared to voice it out loud.

"Ah, well, that is truly a shame! We must absolutely host you properly next time!"

"Thank you for trusting us, Mr. Zucker. We promise we won't let you down!"

Outside, the rain in Seaport City was beginning to come down harder.

--

Meanwhile, in the Capital.

After hanging up, Celia's eyes immediately drifted back to her computer screen.

It was already 9:00 PM, and she was still at the office revising documents.

Glancing at her phone, she noted that Larry had spent the past few days incessantly harassing her in various ways, heavily implying that if she just 'took the initiative' and let him take advantage of her, her work life would magically improve.

Celia twirled her phone in her hand, a frigid gleam flashing in her eyes.

The freezing cold shower she had forced herself to take last night had worked perfectly. Her throat was officially scratchy.

She grabbed a thermometer and checked her temperature. 101.3 degrees.

Wrapping a fleece blanket tightly around her shoulders, Celia deliberately dragged out the clock until 11:00 PM. Only then did she email the revised files to Larry, shut down her computer, and head back to Aerie Manor.

When the maid saw her flushed face, alarm instantly flashed in her eyes. "M-Ms. Stafford, do you have a fever?"

"Hmm?" Celia blinked slowly, her reaction time sluggish as she looked at the maid. "I do feel a bit off, but it's fine. I just need some medicine."

The maid shook her head frantically. "No, that won't do. I'll call the private doctor to come take a look at you!"

Celia waved her off. "It's nothing serious, really. You don't need to do all that. Go get some rest."

Without waiting for the maid's protest, Celia dragged herself up to the third floor.

Night fell deeply over the estate.

The rain began to pour outside, the rhythmic patter of water against the glass making Celia feel terribly cold. She pulled her heavy duvet tighter around herself.

Half-asleep, she faintly registered the sound of movement downstairs.

When Alistair saw her, she was wearing a simple, pure white nightgown. Her face was flushed crimson, her forehead slick with a fine layer of sweat.

The dampness clung to her hair, a few stray strands sticking to the slender column of her neck, making her look incredibly fragile and weak.

Celia looked up at the man standing in her doorway.

He wore a dark charcoal suit, the shoulders visibly darkened by the dampness of the weather.

He had clearly been caught in the rain, faint droplets of water still clinging to the ends of his hair.

The freezing air radiating off him washed over her. Having been wrapped in the stifling warmth of her bed, Celia immediately shrank back, her shoulders shivering against the sudden chill.

The cold shocked some alertness back into her system. She looked at Alistair, her eyes rimmed with red. "Uncle Alistair?"

Alistair's gaze was piercingly cold, his posture exuding an untouchable, aristocratic grace.

The rain hadn't made him look disheveled in the slightest; rather, it added an intimidating, icy edge to his already commanding presence.

Lowering his eyes, his voice came out deep, chilling, and slightly hoarse.

"Come downstairs."