When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 132

Felix

My palms were sweating as Laura wheeled me into George's place. The wheelchair was unnecessary, but Laura insisted it would "sell our story better." David walked behind us, his face a mask of righteous anger.

"Ready, Felix?" Laura whispered, squeezing my shoulder.

I nodded weakly, trying to look as pathetic as possible.

As we entered the living room, George looked up from his morning tea, his expression frustratingly neutral. Parker, the family butler, hovered nearby.

"Look what your precious grandson allowed to happen to my boy!" Laura wailed.

I slumped further into the wheelchair, attempting to look pale and weak. It wasn't difficult after the night I'd had, though not for the reasons we were claiming.

"My son might never be able to have children because Ethan saw him being drugged and did nothing!" David shouted, pointing dramatically at George. "Is this how the future CEO of Black Investments behaves? Abandoning family members in their time of need?"

George set down his teacup and gestured toward the seating area. "Let's discuss this like civilized people, shall we? Parker, please bring refreshments for our guests."

"Refreshments?" David practically spat. "My son is sitting here possibly sterilized because your golden boy refused to help him, and you're offering tea?"

Laura continued her performance, sobbing dramatically. "Felix may never recover fully. The doctor said the trauma to his... his private area might cause permanent damage."

I kept my eyes downcast, occasionally wincing for effect. Inside, I was beginning to feel uneasy. George was too calm. He wasn't buying it.

My stomach dropped when Catherine entered the room.

"What's all this commotion about?" she asked, her gaze sweeping over us. "David, Laura, you're looking particularly outraged this morning. And Felix... in a wheelchair, no less."

Laura turned to her, eyes still glistening with those practiced tears. "Your son abandoned my baby when he needed help!"

I watched Catherine's eyebrow arch skeptically, and I knew we were in trouble.

"Did he now? How convenient that whenever something goes wrong in Felix's life, Ethan becomes the villain of the story."

She turned directly to me, her voice sharp as a scalpel. "Felix, dear, would you care to explain exactly how Ethan 'abandoned' you?"

I felt sweat beading on my forehead as I stammered, "He... he saw me at the hotel. I was clearly drugged. He just left me there. He..." My voice trailed off. The truth was, I couldn't even remember much of last night.

David stepped forward, seemingly unfazed. "If we can prove Ethan neglected his family responsibility, I'm going to request the board reconsider the CEO position. Someone this callous can't be trusted with the family legacy."

"So that's what this is really about," Catherine replied coolly. "The CEO position. Again."

And then, like a nightmare come to life, Ethan himself appeared in the doorway—one arm in a sling, his right hand wrapped in medical gauze.

My blood ran cold.

"I hear I'm being accused of not saving my family," Ethan said calmly, walking into the center of the room.

Something was wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Ethan was supposed to be caught off guard, defensive. Instead, he looked... prepared.

"You're damn right you are!" David shouted, though I noticed his eyes fixate on Ethan's bandaged hand with confusion.

Ethan's voice remained measured. "Interesting accusation, considering I'm the one who ended up injured while trying to help him."

"Help him?" Laura scoffed. "Look at him! He can barely walk!"

My heart pounded as Ethan turned to his assistant Michael, who stepped forward with a tablet. "Perhaps this will clarify things," Michael said, swiping the screen to play a video.

The surveillance footage clearly shows a man like me purchasing pills.

"I wanted to help him, but he was drunk and cut my hand with a bottle," Ethan said flatly. "He was just making things worse for himself."

I felt the room spinning around me.

What was going on?

---

Ethan

I winced as I checked the fresh stitches in my hand. My personal doctor, Samuel, had done a clean job last night, but it still stung like hell. George had dismissed David's family after their pitiful attempt to discredit me, and now we were alone in his private study.

"How's the hand, really?" George asked, pouring us both a finger of scotch.

"It'll heal," I replied, accepting the drink with my good hand. "Not my first time getting stitches."

George nodded, settling into his leather chair. "You know this isn't over. David will find another angle. He's always been after your position."

"Let him try," I said coolly. "I have more important concerns than David's petty schemes."

"The Astor boy?" George raised an eyebrow. "Michael mentioned his relationship with Amelia."

I took a slow sip of scotch. "Daniel is protective of her. I respect that."

"Is that why your hand really needs stitches? The injury story was convincing, but I've been around long enough to know a knife wound when I see one."

I met George's knowing gaze. "The fewer people who know the details, the better. For everyone involved."

I set down my glass and left without another word, my hand throbbing with every heartbeat. Outside, Michael was waiting with the car, his face professionally blank as he opened the door for me.

Once we were driving through Manhattan traffic, Michael glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

"James confirms that Daniel has taken care of the hotel surveillance footage," he reported. "There won't be any evidence of what really happened last night."

I nodded, staring out at the city through tinted windows.

My phone rang, and Amelia's name lit up the screen. I hesitated before answering, conscious of my bandaged hand.

"Hey," I answered, trying to sound normal despite the throbbing pain.

"Do you have plans this afternoon?" Amelia's voice was light, cheerful. "We're having a barbecue. Noah and Olivia are there too."

The invitation caught me off guard, but I quickly composed myself. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well. Think I'll just rest at home today."

"What's wrong?" Her voice immediately shifted to concerned doctor mode. "Is it serious?"

"Just a cold," I said vaguely. "Nothing to worry about. I'll be fine in a day or two."

"That's odd. You seemed fine yesterday," she said, her medical training clearly kicking in. "Sudden onset? Any fever?"

"Just feeling off," I replied, avoiding specifics. "Probably just need some rest."

"I could come check on you tonight," she offered, and I could hear the genuine worry in her voice.

Panic surged through me. If she saw my hand, she'd know something was wrong.

"No need," I said quickly. "I'm probably contagious. Better if you stay away until I'm better."

After hanging up, I turned to Michael. "That music box—is it fixed yet?"

"Just got it a few days ago, and I keep it in the Upper East Side apartment," Michael confirmed, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

"Take it to the riverside apartment," I instructed.

Michael nodded, and I leaned back against the leather seat, closing my eyes briefly. The pain in my hand was a constant reminder of last night's confrontation with Daniel.

A small price to pay, really, for what I had put her through.