Chapter 33

Scarlett POV

Watching Alexander disappear around the corner, feelings of anger and helplessness simultaneously surged in my heart.

How dare he treat me like this? But what could I expect from him—tenderness? Consideration?

The thought was laughable.

I leaned back against the stone wall, closed my eyes, and took several deep breaths to calm myself.

The banquet was still in progress; I needed to look presentable enough to return without arousing suspicion.

The phone in my purse suddenly vibrated, Tom's name flashing on the screen, sending a wave of anxiety through me.

He wouldn't call without reason, and tension flooded my entire body.

"Miss Smith?" Tom's voice sounded calm, as stiff as if it were coming from a robot.

"The event is about to end. Mr. Gray would like you to attend the farewell segment."

I looked down at my disheveled appearance, feeling overwhelmed by despair.

How could I possibly walk back into the banquet hall like this? I looked exactly like someone who had just crawled out of a lover's bed!

I frantically searched for a solution in my mind, my brain working so fast it was almost smoking, not knowing what to say in response.

Each second of silence felt like walking on fire; I could sense Tom's growing suspicion on the other end of the line.

"Miss Smith?" Tom's tone became sharp, laced with doubt.

"You haven't gone to meet someone, have you?"

This question hung like a time bomb, each word echoing in my ears.

"No," I answered firmly, trying to make my voice sound convincing. I almost believed the lie myself.

Just as I had learned since childhood—no matter how big the lie, as long as you tell it with enough confidence, people will believe it.

Just then, a shadow fell over me.

My heart nearly stopped beating; for an instant, various terrifying thoughts flashed through my mind.

Had Tom sent someone to find me? Had Sandra and George discovered us? Or had Richard returned?

I slowly raised my head, my throat tightening with fear, barely able to breathe, only to see a figure standing before me, their outline appearing blurry and mysterious in the dim light.

"What was that sound?" Tom's patience was clearly running out.

I could imagine his tense face and furrowed brow on the other end of the phone, an expression I had seen too many times.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," I managed to say, looking ahead, my voice carrying a slight tremor.

"Miss Smith, you have ten minutes." The call was ruthlessly ended.

The woman standing in front of me stepped forward, and the dim moonlight finally illuminated her face.

I was surprised to find she possessed an exquisitely perfect face, her eyes conveying a complex emotion I couldn't interpret.

This suddenly appearing woman plunged me into panic; I instinctively stepped back, trying to hide myself in the shadows.

Seeing my movement, she didn't find it strange, nor did she call everyone over as I had imagined.

"Scarlett Smith?"

She said my name in a slightly magnetic voice, her tone carrying an accent I wasn't familiar with.

Looking up in surprise, I probably hadn't seen her before, yet she could accurately say my name—she must have done more than just see me in the banquet hall.

Her demeanor remained elegant and composed, as if this secluded garden corner were some high-end salon.

"Who are you?"

I asked cautiously, while trying to straighten my rumpled dress.

After my intimate encounter with Alexander, my appearance was far from presentable.

Every second exposed to this strange woman made me feel naked and vulnerable.

I couldn't help wondering if this was Richard's trap.

Was she someone sent by Richard to monitor me? Had she seen me with Alexander?

If word got out, I would be completely ruined.

"Camila Foster," she introduced herself briefly, her voice as calm as if she hadn't just encountered a disheveled woman in a hidden garden corner.

Then, she took out a silk scarf and a small comb from her elegant purse, her movements graceful and practiced, as if this were something she did frequently.

"We don't have much time. Tom is more perceptive than you imagine, and Sandra has already begun to suspect you."

The surname Foster immediately caught my attention, plus the fact that she could appear at the Blair house...

In Silverlight City's social circles, the Foster family's position in the political arena was comparable to the Blair family, with equally matched power.

I looked at Camila in surprise, not understanding why someone of her status would appear here, and even less why she would help me.

"Don't just stand there," Camila urged softly, skillfully helping me arrange my hair.

"We need to make you look impeccable in ten minutes."

I obediently let her fix my disheveled hair, my mind full of questions.

"Why are you helping me?"

I finally couldn't help but ask, my voice filled with undisguised confusion and a hint of caution.

Camila's fingers deftly wove a bun at the back of my head, her movements so quick and skilled, as if she often dressed others.

Smelling the perfume on her, that sense of peace and calmness made me feel both reassured and more confused.

"The answer to that question is rather complicated," she replied briefly, her voice low and mysterious, as unfathomable as she herself was.

Her gaze briefly met mine in the mirror, filled with a profound understanding, as if she knew all my secrets.

"For now, you only need to know that we have common... interests."

The way she said "interests" sent a chill down my spine.

This word represented a complex web of relationships and calculations.

I couldn't help but wonder what kind of interest this Miss Foster had in connection with me, the Gray family, or Alexander.

She took out a crystal hairpin and placed it on the side of my bun, cleverly concealing the bite mark Alexander had left on the back of my neck.

"Perfect."

She nodded with satisfaction, then stepped back to examine me, her gaze like an artist admiring their work.

"Now, listen carefully. We are college alumni who met by chance tonight and got so engrossed in conversation that we lost track of time. Can you remember that?"

"College alumni," I repeated mechanically, my brain still trying to comprehend the absurdity and unreality of it all.

I felt as if I had been drawn into a carefully planned drama, and I didn't even know my role or lines.

"Lost track of time?"

"Very good," Camila smiled slightly, a smile carrying a meaning I couldn't interpret.