The Platonic Trap novel Chapter 39

Talbot's brow deeply furrowed.

After a suffocating silence, he finally forced himself to look the older man in the eye. "With all due respect, Mr. Zucker, I have to say something. Even if you're stepping in as Celia's guardian, don't you think you're overstepping your boundaries?"

Alistair didn't say a word.

His lethal gaze simply shifted from Talbot to the terrified friends huddled behind him.

Those rich kids knew how to read a room. Catching the murderous look in Alistair's eyes, they practically trampled each other as they sprinted out of the suite.

Before fleeing, one of them grabbed Talbot's arm, frantically trying to pull him along.

But Talbot planted his feet, stubbornly glaring at Alistair.

Technically speaking, Alistair was only five years older than Talbot.

But the chasm between the two men—in wealth, ruthless power, and sheer life experience—spanned far beyond five meager years.

"If you don't want me calling Franklin right now, you will walk out that door."

Alistair was notoriously short on patience.

If it hadn't been for the pending marriage between the Staffords and the Forresters, he would have never greenlit the corporate partnership, let alone given Talbot a second glance.

Talbot wasn't stupid; he heard the threat loud and clear.

A storm of humiliated rage swirled in his eyes, but he swallowed it down. Without another word, Talbot turned on his heel and stormed out.

The heavy door clicked shut.

Suddenly, it was just the two of them alone in the quiet suite.

Alistair stood near the entrance. The lighting was too dim for Celia to clearly read his expression.

As if the confrontation had completely drained her of her strength, she collapsed heavily onto the plush sofa.

Alistair didn't move.

A moment later, he heard the faint, heartbreaking sound of her sobbing.

She cried silently, her head bowed as her long hair tumbled forward to hide her face. The only sign of her distress was the violent trembling of her slender shoulders with every ragged breath.

Alistair's lips pressed into a tight line. He rubbed his thumb against his index finger, saying nothing.

—He had absolutely no idea how to comfort people.

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