Clap!
Varrel threw a brown envelope onto the bed where Lana was leaning back, busy scrolling on her tablet.
"Explain," he commanded.
Lana frowned and opened the thick paper envelope. Her fingers brushed over the contents—several photos—her expression instantly shifting to something just shy of panic.
"Did you pay someone to hurt her?" His voice trembled with barely restrained fury, his fists clenched so tight his hands started to shake.
"No. Why the hell would I hurt someone who’s already half-crippled?" Lana snapped, tossing the photos of Lethia at Brookwood onto the floor. "I just paid someone to scare her."
"Then why the fuck did you lure her there?" he growled. "We agreed to lock her up in the temple until the transfer was done."
"You really think she can’t escape that cage?" Lana’s tone turned sharp. "Lethia is smart. Smarter than you think. She even fooled your own damn men, didn’t she?"
She took a deep breath, the dull throb in her knees starting to spread up her thighs. "I just... I just made sure she wouldn’t run off before everything was settled."
Her voice faltered, trembling as if her disappointment finally bit through. "And now you’re yelling at me... for her?"
Varrel shut his eyes, dragging in a long breath as his fury slowly melted. His gaze softened the second he saw the tears rolling down Lana’s cheeks.
He moved closer, brushing her tears away with his fingers. Gently, he cupped her chin and tilted her face toward him.
"I’m sorry for yelling," he murmured. "I’m just... pissed about where she is now."
He sat beside her, taking her hand in his.
"If you hadn’t led her to Brookwood... she never would’ve crossed paths with one of that Tuffin men."
"You don’t need to worry. Your position is already rock solid now—even the Tuffins wouldn’t dare mess with us without a good reason." Lana stroked Varrel’s cheek with a tenderness that didn’t quite match her usual sharpness.
Varrel only nodded and moved to leave.
"We’re removing your knee cast tomorrow, right? Get some rest."
He left Lana alone in the room and walked to his study. No matter what, Lethia was still his ex-wife.
She’d once shared pieces of her life, her memories, with him. And no matter how cruel he could be, he couldn’t bring himself to truly hurt her.
Varrel clenched his jaw. He didn’t completely trust Lana, he never had. She was more dangerous than anyone, more ruthless than she let on. But provoking her? That was a waste of energy.
He rubbed his temple like it might calm the chaos pounding in his skull. Letting Lethia fall into the Tuffins’ hands was like handing them a bloody atomic bomb.
Even now, with all the power he held—the power that Ashenhold itself needed, he was sure that Lethia wouldn’t sit still.
That made Varrel smirk to himself, remembering just how goddamn obsessed he used to be with Lethia’s sexy, twisted brain.
***
Lethia tapped her feet anxiously in the waiting room, her nerves spiraling as she waited to be called for the interview.
For a while now, she’d been watching Aider candidates walk in and out, each one returning with the same hollow look, like their soul had been halfway yanked out and forgotten somewhere along the way.
She had been a team leader before, sure—but this was her first actual job interview. She was a nepo-baby, after all. It had always been her father’s company before this.
A woman, probably a bit younger than her, had been eyeing her for a while, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t work up the courage.
Lethia tried her best not to lock eyes with her. She wasn’t here to attract attention. Unfortunately, her damn eyes had a habit of rolling around the room, scanning everything... and inevitably, their gazes met.
Lethia offered a polite nod and a thin smile. But as if that was a damn invitation, the girl stood and plopped herself down right next to her—making Lethia instantly wish she could just vanish.
"Are you Lethia Ashcroft?"
’Yes, I am. Why? Do you want my autograph?’
She only smiled politely and nodded instead, answering the question inwardly.
Ever since a stranger had hugged her out of nowhere at the hospital, claiming to be a fan, Lethia had been a little paranoid around new people who were suspiciously friendly.
"Oh my God, you— I didn’t think I’d meet a public figure here."
Lethia chuckled. "I’m not a public figure."
"Do you not realize how powerful your presence on the internet? You even have an unofficial fan page."
The woman scrolled through her phone and flashed it at Lethia, revealing a page titled StilleClown.
Lethia let out a soft laugh when she read the title of the fanpage. According to the woman named Chasey, it was a pun on "still-clown," because apparently, they proudly called themselves Lethia’s loyal clowns.
They chatted briefly before Lethia’s name was called for the interview.
Inside, three interviewers were seated, all staring at her like she was some dangerous alien species that needed to be contained.
She sat across from them, her heartbeat pounding in a rhythm she could barely control. No matter how confident she was, sitting under those stares—the kind that silently screamed "I know who you are"—was never comforting.
The interview started off smoothly enough. Questions about her background and work experience flowed, and Lethia answered them with ease and composure.
Until—
"Is it true you had an affair? And that the child you’re carrying is from that affair?" asked the male interviewer—the one with black cropped hair and thin-rimmed glasses.
Lethia frowned. "I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that question has any relevance to this job."
"Do you think so? Even the trees around here know who you are—and who your ex-husband is. I don’t recall ever hearing that scandal had a proper closure. Wouldn’t a press conference be more appropriate?"
"I will do one," Lethia replied coolly. "But... I hate the spotlight. So I don’t plan on feeding anyone’s curiosity unless it pays me well. So until someone offers me a big amount of money, I’ll do nothing about it."
Her answer made one of the interviewers smile—one of those sly, grudgingly impressed smiles.
Lethia could tell they liked the way she handled it. No more questions followed. Just scribbles on their report sheets, and a certain silence that told her she’d passed this round.