The Platonic Trap novel Chapter 89

On the other end of the line, his voice was dark and slightly raspy, carrying a slow, deliberate cadence. It felt as if he were carefully weighing every single syllable before letting it slip past his lips.

Like he was gently coaxing her into a trap.

Celia kept her head bowed, the phone pressed tight to her ear. Beneath her damp, thick eyelashes, her eyes gleamed with a deeper, calculating light.

The soft, elegant music of the club filtered into the private suite. Curled up on the sofa in her extravagant gown, she looked entirely swallowed up by the massive layers of fabric.

Right outside the suite, separated by a single door.

Alistair stood perfectly still in his tailored suit. One hand rested casually in his pocket, while the other held his phone. His expression was completely unreadable.

The lighting in the corridor was dim and moody. The cold light hit his understated, immaculate suit, making him look even more untouchable and dangerous.

He leaned slightly against the wall, his gaze dropping to the solitary cufflink adorning his right wrist.

The deep green gem caught the light, gleaming against his crisp white shirt like a mesmerizing siren.

Time seemed to stretch.

Finally, he heard the girl's trembling, tearful voice crackle through the speaker.

"Uncle Alistair..." She sobbed softly, sounding like a stray kitten that had finally found its owner, pouring out her grievances and begging for protection. "Please help me..."

Her conversations with him were always so different from her calls with Ken.

With Ken, she talked about everything. She complained about needing a chef, joked about trying to learn how to cook. She even shared the embarrassing details of her kitchen disasters. But she never shared those things with him.

She would say: *Don't worry, Uncle Alistair, I'm perfectly fine.*

She would say: *I don't need anything, please don't worry about me.*

She would say: *I can take care of myself.*

She never allowed him to see her vulnerable, helpless side.

Until right now. Right this very second.

--

When Norma was physically dragged out of the banquet hall by security, her face was a mask of utter confusion and shock.

She had no idea what was happening. Just as she was about to go clean the champagne off her dress, several massive security guards approached her and ordered her to leave the premises immediately.

At first, she refused, demanding that the organizers come out and give her an explanation.

But the other elites in the room simply watched the guards with extreme caution and fear, realizing instantly that she had offended someone totally untouchable.

No one cared about her hysterical screaming, and no organizers came to mediate. Norma was practically thrown out of the venue by force.

Once she was gone, a dead silence fell over the hall. You could hear a pin drop.

A few sharp-eyed guests recognized the insignias on the security detail. Realizing whose men they were, absolutely no one dared to step forward to defend the Forrester heiress.

The guest of honor was nowhere to be found. Because Alistair had already vanished from the party, the welcome gala hosted in his name awkwardly and hastily came to an end.