Alexander Sterling burst out of the Sterling manor. He didn't spare a glance for Eleanor, who was calling his name, nor for the bewildered housekeepers. His mind was a maelstrom of betrayal, and a chilling determination. He strode directly to his sleek black luxury car, which was already waiting at the front entrance, its engine purring softly. He yanked open the back door and slid inside, the plush leather seat doing little to absorb the rigid tension in his body. His face, usually composed and commanding, was now a mask of unreadable coldness, his eyes distant, fixed on some unseen point.
A moment later, the driver's side door opened, and Mr. Hart slipped into the seat. Mr. Hart was already on the phone, his voice low and professional, clearly receiving information. He ended the call, his gaze briefly meeting Alexander's in the rearview mirror before he started the car.
"Mr. Sterling," Mr. Hart began, his voice calm and measured, delivering the information he had just acquired. "I've located her. Her name is Sasha Cooper. She is indeed the CEO's daughter of GET Art Supplies, as Ethan mentioned." He paused, allowing the information to sink in. "Mrs. Sterling is with her. They are at Ms. Cooper's apartment in the Hillside district."
Alexander didn't react much. His expression remained utterly blank, devoid of any discernible emotion. The news of Claire's location, the confirmation of Sasha's identity, seemed to elicit no visible response from him. He simply stared ahead, his jaw tight, his silence more unnerving than any outburst.
Mr. Hart, sensing the heavy atmosphere but needing clear instructions, ventured cautiously, "Should we go there, Mr. Sterling? To the Hillside apartment?"
Alexander finally stirred, a flicker of something cold in his eyes. His voice, when it came, was flat, devoid of its usual power, yet held an undeniable finality. "No," he replied, the single word cutting through the quiet of the luxurious car. "Head to Carl Hotel."
Mr. Hart, accustomed to Alexander's often unconventional decisions, simply nodded. "Very well, Mr. Sterling," he said, and with a smooth, almost imperceptible shift of gears, the car pulled away from the Sterling manor, leaving behind the chaos and the lingering questions, heading towards a destination that was anything but obvious.
The journey to Sasha Cooper's apartment in the Hillside district had been a blur for Claire. The pain in her legs, though somewhat dulled by the ice and the initial shock, was a constant, throbbing reminder of the morning's horror. Sasha, ever efficient, had managed to get them into her sleek car and away from the hospital's sterile glare with remarkable speed.
Now, in Sasha's spacious, art-filled living room, Claire was carefully settled on a plush sofa, her bandaged leg propped up on soft cushions. Sasha, her face still etched with worry, returned from the kitchen with a tall glass of cool water, which she gently pressed into Claire's trembling hand.
"Here, drink this," Sasha urged, her voice soft, a stark contrast to her earlier fierceness. She sat beside Claire, her hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. "What's so worried about, Claire? I am here for you. You're safe now."
Claire managed a small, weak smile, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Sasha," she whispered, taking a slow sip of the water, the coolness a welcome relief against her dry throat.
Sasha sighed, a sound of exasperated amusement. She leaned back, shaking her head slightly. "Honestly, I am truly amused with that Sterling family. They are supposed to be these incredibly influential people, but how come their thought process is so incredibly narrow-minded? It's like they live in a different century." She glanced at Claire, expecting some agreement.
Claire, however, simply gazed down at her lap, her smile fading. The words, though true, brought no comfort. The image of Alexander's furious face, his accusation, still burned in her mind.
Sasha, noticing Claire's withdrawn expression, gently nudged her. "Forget about them, Claire. Seriously. You can stay here as long as you want. Moreover, I don't want to send you back to that viper's nest." She spoke with a definitive tone, offering a sanctuary.
Claire nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the offer, but her face said otherwise. A deep sadness clouded her eyes, and a fresh wave of vulnerability washed over her.
Sasha, ever perceptive, frowned slightly. "What's wrong, Claire? Are you worried that Alexander Sterling might call your father?"
Claire shook her head slowly, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. Her voice was barely audible, thick with unshed tears. "No," she whispered, "he might not even... he might also never concern himself and ask where I am."
The words were laced with a profound hurt, the realization of Alexander's apparent indifference cutting deeper than any physical pain. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision, and then began to fall, uncontrolled, tracing hot paths down her face.
"Hey! Don't cry," Sasha said immediately, her voice softening with genuine concern. She reached out and pulled Claire into a gentle hug, holding her close.
Claire buried her face in Sasha's shoulder, the dam finally breaking. Her body shook with silent sobs, the tears flowing uncontrollably, a release of all the pain, fear, and betrayal she had endured that morning. "Sasha," she choked out between sobs, her voice raw with anguish, "what did I do so wrong to deserve this?"
"No. Nothing," Sasha murmured, stroking Claire's hair softly. "You did nothing wrong. Don't cry, okay? Everything's going to be fine." She held Claire softly, her own anger simmering beneath the surface, directed squarely at the family who had caused her friend so much pain. "Your tears are not worth their family," Sasha added, her voice firm, a protective shield against the Sterling's cruelty.
In Carl hotel, the grand ballroom was abuzz with the low murmur of influential voices and the clinking of crystal glasses. The event, a high-profile gathering sponsored by the government, had drawn together the CEOs and key figures from the nation's most powerful and influential companies. The air was thick with ambition, networking, and the subtle dance of power.
Alexander Sterling, having arrived swiftly, took a prominent seat in the front row, his earlier fury now carefully masked by a facade of professional composure. He listened intently to the opening speeches, his expression unreadable, and clapped politely at the appropriate moments, his movements precise and controlled. His mind, however, was far from the political rhetoric; it was consumed by the information Mr. Hart had just relayed.
After the formal speeches concluded, the ballroom transformed into a more relaxed, yet equally strategic, gathering. Clusters of powerful individuals formed, exchanging business cards and pleasantries. Alexander stood for a moment, surveying the room, a predator assessing his prey.
Just then, Brenda leaned in conspiratorially, her voice a low whisper that barely reached his ear. "Alexander," she breathed, "I just saw Daniel Cooper. He's over by the main bar." She pulled back, a curious glint in her eye, clearly expecting a reaction.
Alexander gave a curt nod, his gaze already pinpointing the man Brenda had indicated. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips – a smile that held no warmth, only calculation. He began to move, navigating the crowded room with effortless grace, heading directly towards a distinguished-looking man in his late sixties, whose silver hair and confident posture bespoke immense wealth and influence.
"Mr. Cooper," Alexander said, his voice smooth and commanding, extending his hand for a handshake. His grip was firm, a silent assertion of his own power.
The man, momentarily surprised to be directly approached by Alexander Sterling, quickly composed himself. He respectfully produced his hand, meeting Alexander's handshake with equal firmness. "Mr. Sterling," he replied, a hint of deference in his tone. "I am Daniel Cooper."
"Of course. I know," Alexander stated, his voice even, his gaze holding Daniel's. The simple acknowledgment, coming from someone of Alexander Sterling's stature, was a significant compliment in these circles.
Daniel Cooper's smile widened, a thrill of recognition and validation evident in his eyes. To be recognized by Alexander Sterling, the scion of the Sterling empire, was indeed a mark of prestige. "It's an honor, Mr. Sterling," he added, genuinely pleased.
Alexander's smile remained fixed, a polite, unyielding mask. "Your daughter is my wife's friend," he stated, his voice calm, almost casual, as if discussing a trivial matter. "Claire Hayes."
Daniel's widened smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He had heard, of course, that Alexander Sterling had recently married. The gossip had been rampant, though details were scarce. He had naturally assumed Alexander would have married into an equally influential family, perhaps the daughter of a prominent industrialist or a rising politician. But Claire? Claire Hayes was just a... a pleasant young woman, certainly not from the echelons of power he associated with the Sterlings. His mind quickly processed the unexpected connection. Claire Hayes... Alexander Sterling's wife? The pieces clicked, revealing a surprising, and potentially lucrative, new dimension to his daughter's social circle.
His smile quickly returned, wider and more genuine this time, tinged with a newfound interest. "Claire!" Daniel exclaimed, a slight laugh escaping him.
"Yes, of course! My daughter's childhood friend. What a small world, Mr. Sterling. Sasha speaks of her often." He looked at Alexander with a renewed curiosity, already calculating the implications of this unexpected revelation.