The Platonic Trap novel Chapter 43

Alistair had heard snippets of the conversation outside the suite.

—It was what Talbot had said.

He had said, *Celia, don't make a fool of yourself. I can't get hard for you.*

In the driver's seat, Ken experienced a momentary lapse where he thought he was hallucinating!

What did she mean, *can't get hard*!?

What exactly had happened between Ms. Stafford and Mr. Zucker!?

Glancing through the rearview mirror, Ken checked on the man behind him.

Alistair's expression remained entirely impassive, not a single muscle twitching.

Trusting his boss's legendary composure, Ken let out a breath.

He pressed a button, and the privacy partition smoothly rolled up, instantly transforming the backseat into an intimate, secluded space.

Alistair remained seated, looking every bit the pristine billionaire.

The teary-eyed girl before him stared with deep resentment. "Uncle Alistair, am I not pretty?"

"Why would Talbot treat me..."

"It's his fault," Alistair interrupted calmly before she could finish. "Celia, his mind is filthy and his character is rotten."

"Do not use someone else's depravity to punish yourself," Alistair said earnestly. "That is incredibly unfair to you."

Those people had claimed she wore this outfit as a "gift" for Talbot.

They had mocked her, saying she should be grateful Talbot even allowed her to use his suite.

Talbot had told her not to make a fool of herself.

It seemed everyone thought she was too obedient, too boring, which was why Talbot's eyes wandered, and that she should have used her body to keep him.

But now, the powerful man in front of her spoke with absolute conviction.

"Celia, he is the one at fault."

A long time passed.

So much time passed that the car was cruising smoothly down the highway, the faint sound of the wind slicing past the windows filling the silence.

Celia lowered her head.

One hand gripped his sleeve tightly as she rested her forehead against his shoulder.

The intimacy of the gesture was undeniable.

Alistair turned his head slightly, raising a hand to push her away.

But a second later, his hand froze mid-air.

The rest of the drive was perfectly silent.

When the car pulled up outside the Stafford Villa gates, Ken stepped out first.

Upon opening the door on Celia's side, Ken was met with an astonishing sight.

The young heiress had fallen asleep, her head tilted to the side, one hand still locked in a death grip on his boss's sleeve, tear tracks still visible on her cheeks.

"Mr.—"

Ken had barely opened his mouth to speak.

Alistair raised his free hand to his lips, making a sharp shushing motion.

Ken nodded and snapped his mouth shut.

Glancing at the sleeping girl, Alistair maintained his perfect posture, staring straight ahead.

The window was rolled down slightly, allowing the cool night breeze to sweep through the cabin, finally dispersing the floral scent laced with alcohol.

The crisp air helped clear Celia's hazy mind.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes.

"You're awake?" Alistair looked at her, his tone as even as ever. "We're home. Go inside and get some rest."