Let Me Go, Mr. Howard Chapter 24

The cocktail party was held at a private club in the suburbs, its Baroque-style decor excessively luxurious, the crystal chandeliers reflecting light that hurt the eyes. 

As soon as Scarlett followed Edith into the private room, she winced at the heavy smell of alcohol and cheap perfume. 

The atmosphere was thick with smoke. Several pot-bellied men sat with heavily made-up women, drinking and laughing crudely.

"Let me introduce everyone," Edith clapped her hands, pulling Scarlett forward with a fake smile plastered on her face. 

"This is my dear sister, Scarlett Seymour, a talented designer." She emphasized the word "sister" heavily, her eyes circling the men's faces with suggestive intent.

A businessman named Max Gomez immediately perked up, approaching with his drink, his greasy fingers nearly touching Scarlett's face. "Scarlett, huh? You're quite striking, even fresher than your sister. Have a drink with me?"

Scarlett frowned and looked back, only to discover that Edith had already vanished from the room. 

She instantly realized the truth—there was no cocktail party. Edith had simply used it as a pretext to deliver her to these men.

"I don't drink," Scarlett stepped back, avoiding his touch, her tone cold. "I have to go now."

"Why the rush?" Max grabbed her wrist with surprising strength, forcing her onto the sofa. 

"Edith already told us everything. You're just like your mother—a whore. Aren't you here to entertain us? Why pretend to be innocent?"

"What did you say?" Scarlett's eyes instantly reddened like a cornered cat. She struggled violently. "Let go of me! You disgusting pervert!"

"Feisty, aren't you?" Max laughed at her reaction, reaching for her face. "Perfect; I like it spicy. Just wait and see how I—"

Before he could finish, Scarlett grabbed a wine bottle from the table and smashed it against his head without hesitation. 

The bottle shattered, wine mixing with blood as it ran down Max's temple and dripped onto his floral shirt like an ugly flower.

"You bitch! You dare hit me?" Max roared in pain, clutching his forehead as he lunged toward her.

Scarlett broke free and ran from the room, not caring that she'd lost her shoes. Her bare feet hit the cold floor, cut by broken glass, but she barely noticed. 

She only knew she had to escape, to get as far away as possible from these vile people.

The hallway was empty except for the sound of her hurried footsteps and labored breathing. She immediately took out her phone, fingers trembling as she tried to dial Chris's number. 

But before she could complete the call, she spotted a black sedan parked at the club entrance through the hallway window.

Sebastian's car.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively wanted to run to him for help. But in the next second, her steps froze. 

The car door opened, and Edith was nestled in Sebastian's arms, her shoulders shaking slightly as she cried dramatically, "Seb, thank goodness you're here. This disgusting old man was harassing me. I was terrified! Luckily Scarlett stepped in, otherwise I would have..."

Sebastian reached out, tenderly fixing her wind-tousled hair, his fingertips so gentle they could have been caressing water. 

"It's alright now. I'm here." He didn't even ask where Scarlett was or what had actually happened. He simply believed Edith's story without question.

Scarlett's hand tightened around her phone, her knuckles turning white. The screen pressed painfully into her palm. 

So this was it. Her struggle, her humiliation, her desperate need for help—in his eyes, they were just stepping stones for Edith's attention-seeking drama.

Hidden behind a hallway column, she watched as Sebastian said something that made Edith laugh through her tears, then bent down to carry her into the car. 

Throughout it all, his gaze never once swept toward the hallway. 

The cut on her fingertip had reopened without her noticing. A drop of blood fell onto her phone screen, spreading into a small dark red stain. She felt nothing, just numbly watched the black sedan slowly drive away.

"Damn it! Where did that little bitch go?" The private room door was suddenly flung open as Max, clutching his bleeding forehead, emerged with several other men, cursing loudly.

Scarlett snapped back to reality and ran toward the fire exit. She hit a fire hydrant, wincing in pain, but didn't dare stop. 

She pushed open the heavy iron door and rushed into the stairwell. The motion-sensor lights flickered on and off with her steps, bright then dark, like her vacillating heart.

Her bare feet were torn raw by the grit on the stairs, each step like walking on knife edges. But this pain was nothing compared to the ice in her heart.

"Scarlett! Stop right there!" Max's furious roar echoed from behind, getting closer.

Scarlett ran faster, tears streaming down her face—not from fear, but from a bone-deep despair and irony. 

She remembered how Sebastian had tenderly fixed Edith's hair, how firmly he had said "I'm here" to her, and then recalled how, just last night in the hotel, he had claimed her with anger and possessiveness.

How ridiculous. On one hand, he was gentle and attentive to Edith, playing the role of the devoted fiancé. On the other, he trampled over her without restraint, using the most degrading methods to keep her trapped.

Finally losing her pursuers, Scarlett leaned against the stair railing, gasping for breath as a metallic taste rose in her throat. 

Staring at the dim stairwell light, she suddenly began to laugh softly, her laughter filled with bitter mockery. 

Sebastian certainly had impressive stamina. Managing Edith's dramatics while also plotting how to control and manipulate her. 

Wasn't he afraid of working himself to death? He'd be better off dead. She thought viciously, but her feet kept moving, step by step down the stairs.

Morning light was just filtering through the attic door when Scarlett dragged her lead-heavy legs to the mirror. 

The soles of her feet were covered in wounds, blood and dirt forming dark red scabs that shot pain through her at the slightest touch.

Gritting her teeth, she unscrewed the iodine bottle. The moment the cotton swab touched her wound, she inhaled sharply, tears nearly falling. 

Her phone vibrated on the bedside table—a message from Chris sent in the early hours: [Are you okay? I called but couldn't reach you. Very worried.]

With trembling fingers, she replied: [I'm fine. Don't worry.] 

As soon as the message sent, the screen went dark, reflecting her paper-white face. 

Her phone showed missed calls from Chris and concerned messages from team members, but nothing from Sebastian.

Of course—he had been busy comforting the "frightened" Edith last night. He had no time to think about the "troublemaker." 

Scarlett took a deep breath and pressed the cotton swab to her deepest wound. The pain made her whole body shake, but she bit her lip hard, making no sound. 

What was this pain compared to the cold in her heart? Absolutely nothing.