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Chapter 314
Chapter 314:
Alycia crossed to the luxury minibar in the corner of the suite. She selected a bottle of expensive red wine, bypassed a glass entirely, and carried it back to the bed. She uncorked it and poured a deliberate splash of dark red liquid onto the white sheets near the pillows, then tipped the bottle again, letting a few drops fall across Cole’s bare chest and neck.
The sharp, fermented smell of alcohol instantly filled the air — perfectly masking any trace of the sedative, and creating an undeniable illusion of a drunken, chaotic night.
She set the bottle on the nightstand.
Now came the most crucial part. The most despicable.
Alycia reached into her designer handbag, bypassing her lipstick and compact, her fingers closing around a small, sterile plastic cylinder — a disposable medical lancet, the kind used for drawing blood in diabetes testing.
T𝗁𝗼u𝗌𝘢𝘯𝗱ѕ o𝘧 𝗿𝖾a𝗱𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝘰𝘯 g𝗮𝗅ո𝗼𝘃elѕ.𝖼о𝘮
She pulled off the cap.
She walked to the center of the bed, positioning herself beside Cole’s hips, and looked down at the pristine white sheets. She raised her left hand, pressed the tip of the lancet firmly against the soft pad of her index finger, and pushed the trigger.
Click.
The tiny needle pierced her skin and retracted. A sharp sting followed, and a bright red drop of blood welled up immediately.
Alycia did not hesitate. She pressed her bleeding finger into the center of the white sheet, squeezed to force more blood out, and smeared it slightly — enough to make the stain appear larger, more organic, more damning.
The dark red blood soaked into the white cotton. Stark. Undeniable. A fabricated symbol constructed with surgical, premeditated cruelty.
She wiped the remaining blood from her finger with a tissue. Then she raised her hand to her own neck and used her thumb and index finger to pinch the sensitive skin just below her collarbone, twisting hard until her eyes watered. She repeated the process on the side of her neck, holding until the pain was blinding. When she released her grip, dark, angry bruises bloomed on her pale skin — indistinguishable from passionate love bites.
She turned to Cole and dragged her fingernails lightly down his bare shoulder, leaving three faint red scratches.
The physical evidence was now irrefutable.
Alycia reached behind her back and unzipped her dress, letting the expensive fabric pool on the floor. She unhooked her bra and discarded it. Wearing nothing but her silk underwear, she climbed into the bed and slid her body against Cole’s massive, unconscious frame. She pulled his heavy right arm over her waist, forcing him into an intimate embrace, and rested her head against his chest, just beside the wine stain.
She picked up her smartphone from the nightstand and opened the camera.
She held the phone above them and composed the frame with cold deliberation — Cole’s recognizable face clearly visible, her bruised neck exposed, and in the background, subtle but unmistakable, the dark red stain on the white sheet, as though captured by accident.
She took ten photographs from varying angles.
Alycia lowered the phone and examined the images on the glowing screen. They were absolutely devastating. Weapons of mass destruction, compressed into a handful of digital files.
She locked the phone and slid it under her pillow.