She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 960

Down the hall, Swain’s voice echoed through the quiet second floor. He had wandered upstairs, overheard the gossiping coworkers, and immediately chased them off, fiercely defending Helena. Now he was looking for her.

His voice drifted faintly through the heavy door.

Helena was pressed flush against the wood, gasping for air, her face flushed crimson, a thin layer of sweat glowing on her forehead.

*Knock, knock.*

"Helena? Are you in there?" Swain called out. He had seen her come upstairs and swore he had heard someone crying inside this room.

Helena stared at Morris in the dark, sheer panic in her eyes.

Morris smoothly opened the door just a crack, blocking the gap with his hand pressing against the frame.

"She's not here. It's just me," Morris said.

Through the narrow opening, Swain met Morris's intensely calm gaze. He froze for a second before stammering, "Oh, sorry to intrude," and quickly backed away.

The hallway went quiet. The door was shut once more.

Morris looked down at the trembling woman in his arms.

Coming back to reality, Helena looked up at him. Mustering whatever courage she had left, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

He looked mildly surprised. "Not enough?"

A large, elegant hand firmly caught her wrists.

"No," his voice was slightly hoarse, but his tone was absolute. "That's not necessary."

His clothes were perfectly intact. Aside from the slightly rumpled collar she had grabbed earlier, he looked like a businessman stepping out of a boardroom—not a man who had just made his assistant come apart twice in the dark.

"You're hard. Are you just going to walk out there like that?" she whispered.

"I will take care of it myself." He simply reached down to smooth out the wrinkled fabric of her skirt, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Go back to the party," he told her. "Swain is waiting for you."

Helena blinked, stunned. "Swain?"

"You made a new friend today. Shouldn't you go maintain that relationship?" he asked mildly.

The realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. He wanted to go back out there so he could handle his physical needs with the gorgeous socialite, didn't he?

Of course. Why would he ever choose her for that? In his eyes, she and Swain belonged in the same lower bracket. She was the only one living in a delusion.

Something inside her quietly, finally shattered.

She had built a romantic fantasy out of a purely transactional, psychological arrangement. If she kept doing this, it would absolutely destroy her.

"Just one song," Swain held out his hand. "To celebrate me surviving the great stage light disaster of the year?"

Snapping her attention back to him, she let out a real laugh and placed her hand in his. "Deal."

He pulled her into the center of the room. His moves were terrible, but he had great rhythm and an infectious, goofy energy. He kept exaggerating his steps, pulling genuine laughter from the crowd.

Slowly, the tension drained from Helena's body. She let herself move to the beat, her smile finally reaching her eyes.

When the song ended, Swain gave a sweeping, theatrical bow, earning whistles and applause. "Thank you, thank you! And thank you to my lovely partner. I officially declare myself the king of the dance floor!"

The crew booed him playfully.

Helena laughed, shaking her head. She risked one final glance up at the balcony.

It was empty.

A coworker next to her casually mentioned that Mr. Lonsdale had already left the party. He had driven off with the socialite.