The Platonic Trap novel Chapter 144

His footsteps paused for a fraction of a second.

"Uncle Alistair?" Celia turned around, looking confused when he stood still. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Alistair regained his composure, his expression returning to its usual aloofness.

The bedroom was spacious. Celia pulled out a chair. "Please, sit."

As she stepped closer, she caught the faint scent of blood lingering on him.

Raising an eyebrow internally, a triumphant smirk tugged at the corner of her mind.

Alistair sat down, his gaze cool, his eyes as dark as ink.

Celia stood before him with her head bowed.

Alistair was very tall, so even seated, he was perfectly at eye level with her.

"Uncle Alistair, what did you want to talk about?"

She asked softly.

His eyes slowly swept over her.

It was a fleeting, weightless gaze, brushing against her like a feather.

"Why were you crying?" his voice was low and raspy.

Caught off guard, Celia bit her lip and replied timidly, "Work pressure is just a bit much."

"You've already used that excuse, Celia," Alistair replied calmly, rejecting her deflection with simple finality.

"Celia, why were you crying?" he asked again.

Burying her head even lower, she took a few steps toward him and reached out to grasp the hem of his shirt.

But his sleeves were rolled up.

So, in the end, she only managed to grab hold of his pinky finger.

The man's fingers were long and elegant, and her small hand wrapped around his pinky.

Giving it a gentle shake, she tried to deflect. "I'm really fine..."

It was a blatant attempt to distract him.

Normally, a tactic like this might have worked.

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