Whisper - Chapter 69: Chapter 69
You are reading Whisper, Chapter 69: Chapter 69. Read more chapters of Whisper.
The Trap at the Banquet – 2
When his foster sister Vanessa Reed schemed to frame me, Connor stood firmly on my side, his trust in me unwavering. Though reputed to be aloof and unapproachable to others, in all my memories, Connor had only ever shown me gentleness and patience.
I realized now that while he was indeed cold to others, he had always reserved his warmth exclusively for me.
A particular memory surfaced vividly : during high school, I attended Connor's birthday celebration at the Rivers family mansion. The party was in full swing when suddenly the blaring dance music cut out, replaced by soft, sentimental melodies.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and a girl with carefully styled chestnut curls and a tight black dress strode boldly toward Connor. She was voluptuous, sexy, dazzling- everything I wasn't at that awkward age.
Without hesitation, she confessed her admiration and desire to date him. "I've liked you for three years," she declared, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent room. "Will you go out with me?"
Connor, eyes lowered and face expressionless, simply said, "No."
The girl persisted, even claiming she was willing to be his backup. "I can wait forever if you just turn back to me someday," she pleaded.
His patience visibly evaporated. Looking up with coldly impatient eyes, he cut her off, his words sharp as knives : "You and I will never be possible."
The rejection was brutal in its finality. Humiliated before everyone, the girl's face turned deathly pale, tears trembling on her lashes as Connor turned away without a backward glance.
A heavy silence fell over the party. Friends rushed to comfort the devastated girl, ing that Connor had always been ruthless in rejecting confessions and had never shown interest in any girl at all.
That memory had left a deep impression on me. The image of his icy indifference to others now contrasted starkly with the warmth he showed me alone.
Pulling myself from these reveries, I rose and headed to the restroom. After freshening up, I emerged into the hallway when an odd dizziness suddenly overtook
My heart began racing wildly, heat surging through my limbs as if a fire was burning beneath my skin. Confusion clouded my thoughts – I had barely drunk any alcohol tonight, and this felt nothing like mild intoxication.
My legs weakened, and my head grew unbearably heavy. I leaned against the wall for support, fumbling for my phone to call Connor. Something was very wrong.
"Miss, do you need help?" A man in a waiter's uniform approached with a concerned expression.
I shook my head, trying to focus on unlocking my phone. But the man unexpectedly snatched it from my hands.
"Miss, I'll take you to rest," he insisted, his tone suddenly rough as he gripped my arm and began dragging me toward the elevators.
I tried desperately to struggle against his hold. "Let me go!" I demanded, but my voice came out weak and floating, barely audible even to my own ears.
Panic seized me as realization dawned – I'd been drugged. My mind whirled back to the strawberry juice. This man looked exactly like the waiter who had served me earlier. He must have spiked my drink!
Fighting to stay lucid despite the drug coursing through my system, I bit out in a trembling voice, "Who sent you?"
The man, who I now recognized wasn't a real waiter at all but someone named Jeremy Walsh, remained silent. He only shoved me harder into the elevator, his grip bruising on my arm.
My thoughts swirled chaotically – who could have orchestrated this? Ethan? Cassandra? Or someone else entirely?
( Third Person POV )
Meanwhile, in a hotel room upstairs, Lloyd Simmons, a repulsive, obese man lay sprawled on the bed. His breathing came in heavy wheezes as he shifted his substantial weight against the creaking mattress.
An obscene smile spread across his greasy face as he checked his watch for the third time in five minutes. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, pupils dilated with sick excitement.
"She should be here any minute now," he muttered to himself, licking his thick lips.
He adjusted his position, the bed protesting beneath him as he eagerly waited for his "beauty" to be delivered. The room was dimly lit, with only a bedside lamp casting shadows across his bloated features.
When his foster sister Vanessa Reed schemed to frame me, Connor stood firmly on my side, his trust in me unwavering. Though reputed to be aloof and unapproachable to others, in all my memories, Connor had only ever shown me gentleness and patience.
I realized now that while he was indeed cold to others, he had always reserved his warmth exclusively for me.
A particular memory surfaced vividly : during high school, I attended Connor's birthday celebration at the Rivers family mansion. The party was in full swing when suddenly the blaring dance music cut out, replaced by soft, sentimental melodies.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and a girl with carefully styled chestnut curls and a tight black dress strode boldly toward Connor. She was voluptuous, sexy, dazzling- everything I wasn't at that awkward age.
Without hesitation, she confessed her admiration and desire to date him. "I've liked you for three years," she declared, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent room. "Will you go out with me?"
Connor, eyes lowered and face expressionless, simply said, "No."
The girl persisted, even claiming she was willing to be his backup. "I can wait forever if you just turn back to me someday," she pleaded.
His patience visibly evaporated. Looking up with coldly impatient eyes, he cut her off, his words sharp as knives : "You and I will never be possible."
The rejection was brutal in its finality. Humiliated before everyone, the girl's face turned deathly pale, tears trembling on her lashes as Connor turned away without a backward glance.
A heavy silence fell over the party. Friends rushed to comfort the devastated girl, ing that Connor had always been ruthless in rejecting confessions and had never shown interest in any girl at all.
That memory had left a deep impression on me. The image of his icy indifference to others now contrasted starkly with the warmth he showed me alone.
Pulling myself from these reveries, I rose and headed to the restroom. After freshening up, I emerged into the hallway when an odd dizziness suddenly overtook
My heart began racing wildly, heat surging through my limbs as if a fire was burning beneath my skin. Confusion clouded my thoughts – I had barely drunk any alcohol tonight, and this felt nothing like mild intoxication.
My legs weakened, and my head grew unbearably heavy. I leaned against the wall for support, fumbling for my phone to call Connor. Something was very wrong.
"Miss, do you need help?" A man in a waiter's uniform approached with a concerned expression.
I shook my head, trying to focus on unlocking my phone. But the man unexpectedly snatched it from my hands.
"Miss, I'll take you to rest," he insisted, his tone suddenly rough as he gripped my arm and began dragging me toward the elevators.
I tried desperately to struggle against his hold. "Let me go!" I demanded, but my voice came out weak and floating, barely audible even to my own ears.
Panic seized me as realization dawned – I'd been drugged. My mind whirled back to the strawberry juice. This man looked exactly like the waiter who had served me earlier. He must have spiked my drink!
Fighting to stay lucid despite the drug coursing through my system, I bit out in a trembling voice, "Who sent you?"
The man, who I now recognized wasn't a real waiter at all but someone named Jeremy Walsh, remained silent. He only shoved me harder into the elevator, his grip bruising on my arm.
My thoughts swirled chaotically – who could have orchestrated this? Ethan? Cassandra? Or someone else entirely?
( Third Person POV )
Meanwhile, in a hotel room upstairs, Lloyd Simmons, a repulsive, obese man lay sprawled on the bed. His breathing came in heavy wheezes as he shifted his substantial weight against the creaking mattress.
An obscene smile spread across his greasy face as he checked his watch for the third time in five minutes. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, pupils dilated with sick excitement.
"She should be here any minute now," he muttered to himself, licking his thick lips.
He adjusted his position, the bed protesting beneath him as he eagerly waited for his "beauty" to be delivered. The room was dimly lit, with only a bedside lamp casting shadows across his bloated features.
End of Whisper Chapter 69. Continue reading Chapter 70 or return to Whisper book page.