Chapter 187
When Peter arrived at the private lounge, he immediately spotted Kingsley slumped on the sofa, enveloped in an aura of thick, dissolving gloom.
Kingsley held a glass loosely in his fingers, the amber liquid rippling with slight tremors. He was downing drink after drink, not even looking up as someone approached.
It wasn’t until Peter got close and saw the injuries on his face that he drew a sharp breath. “Kingsley, what happened to your mouth, face, and hands? You’re black and blue. It looks painful p>
Kingsley glanced at him but didn’t answer. He simply grabbed the bottle, poured a full glass, and slid it across the table. His voice was incredibly hoarse. “Drink p>
Peter didn’t touch the glass. instead, he turned to Xavier, who was standing nearby, and lowered his voice. “Did someone jump him? Or did he get into a fight p>
Xavier shook his head slightly, not daring to say a word.
“Drink,” Kingsley urged again, his tone laced with impatience. His own glass was already empty, and he reached for the bottle again.
Peter frowned, trying to piece it together. If enemies had come for him, Xavier and the bodyguards would be the first to take the hit. Why was only Kingsley beaten, and specifically on the face?
A thought struck him. He asked tentatively, “Did Lucy do this p>
The hand pouring the whiskey paused for half a second.
Peter knew instantly he was right. He picked up his glass, clinked it against Kingsley’s, and chuckled softly. “Lucy is feisty. Maybe we should find you someone else? I know a few gentle, considerate types. I’ll introduce you p>
Kingsley looked up sharply, his eyes cold as ice. “You don’t get to judge her. Shut up p>
Peter pursed his lips, took a sip of wine, and teased, “Beaten like this and still defending her? Kingsley, I’ve known you a long time, but this is the first time I’ve seen you look this pathetic. I have to commemorate this p>
He pulled out his phone and leaned in toward Kingsley. “Come on, look at the camera p>
Kingsley ignored him completely, staring blankly at the dregs in his glass.
Regardless, the camera shutter clicked, freezing the image of his bruised lip, swollen cheek, and unconcealable wretchedness.
Kingsley drained the rest of his drink and slammed the glass onto the table. “Delete it p>
By early morning, Kingsley was dead drunk. Peter and Xavier had to work together to get him back to the manor.
As his special assistant, Xavier removed Kingsley’s shoes and socks and retrieved a specialized ointment from the medical kit.
His movements were gentle as he applied the salve to the red, swollen cheeks and the bruised corner of Kingsley’s mouth. Seeing the scratches on the back of his hand, Xavier carefully disinfected them with antiseptic. Every step was methodical.
Peter leaned against the sofa, an unlit cigarette between his fingers. He looked at the unconscious man on the bed and sighed, his voice carrying a helpless prediction.
“This chase of his… he’s going to end up covered in cuts and bruises. If you ask me, he should just keep a family doctor on standby to patch him up anytime, anywhere
Xavier didn’t reply. He silently packed up the medical supplies, nodded to Peter, and quietly backed out of the room.
Peter walked to the bedside, looking down at Kingsley’s furrowed brow. A low sigh escaped his throat, his tone softening in a rare moment of sympathy.
“Kingsley, I’ll give you one second of my pity p>
He reached out and clicked off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
The door clicked softly shut. Peter slipped away to the guest room, the stillness of the house left untouched.