The Platonic Trap novel Chapter 63

*Ugh—*

A wave of undeniable irritation flared up inside Celia.

This woman wasn't here to offer psychological support; this was just an interrogation packaged differently!

She said Alistair had hired her, which meant... Alistair had authorized this?

A glint of ice flashed through Celia's eyes.

—If that was true, Alistair was being unbelievably ruthless about this.

While her mind raced, she simultaneously calculated her next move.

The therapist adjusted her glasses, the smile she offered Celia looking a bit fractured. "Ms. Stafford, could you answer my question?"

"I—"

"How is it going?"

Before Celia could get a word out, the heavy, deliberate sound of approaching footsteps echoed nearby, accompanied by a voice that was cold and commanding.

The moment Alistair's voice cut through the air, Celia noticed the therapist instantly adjust her expression, smoothing her interrogative glare into a mask of gentle empathy.

*Oh~*

Celia's mood instantly brightened.

It seemed this little "interrogation" hadn't been sanctioned by Alistair after all.

And since it wasn't his doing, she didn't have to play along.

With that in mind, Celia kept her head down, refusing to look up at the approaching man, and remained dead silent.

"Ms. Stafford," the therapist forced a smile, a flicker of panic betraying her eyes. "You don't need to be afraid. We aren't going to hurt you."

"If there's anything making you uncomfortable, you can tell me."

*What a quick change of face.*

Celia kept her gaze pinned to the floor, not uttering a syllable.

It wasn't until a pair of custom-made leather shoes stopped right in front of her that she heard the man's deep, steady voice above her.

"Are you nervous?"

Alistair's voice possessed a strangely magical quality, naturally capable of calming the most frayed nerves.

Dr. Johnson had claimed she was in a panic state and defensive against men. Yet Celia was begging him to stay.

As if anchored by an invisible, crushing weight, Alistair froze in his tracks.

"Uncle Alistair, I'm scared..." Her voice shook, edged with a quiet sob. "Stay with me, please..."

She looked like a helpless, lost lamb.

"Ms. Stafford!" The therapist's smile was aggressively unnatural now, her pitch rising. "Mr. Zucker has a very demanding schedule. If there's anything you need to get off your chest, you can talk to me."

Celia kept her head down, completely tuning the woman out.

A long moment passed.

Then, from above, she heard the faintest, almost imperceptible sigh.

The cushion beside her sank down by an inch.

—Alistair had taken a seat right next to her.

"She's young," Alistair said, his voice calm and low. "Don't intimidate her."

Celia raised an eyebrow slightly, subtly lifting her gaze to catch the therapist's rather pale expression.