Chapter 359

By targeting Sophia, Dominic Valrose had essentially slapped Ethan Roscente across the face.

Since when did Ethan tolerate disrespect?

The idea was laughable.

The fact that Dominic was still breathing was nothing short of mercy.

This wasn't about defending Sophia—it was about protecting his own pride.

Sophia smirked coldly. "You're overthinking it, Kevin. Business is war. Winners and losers are decided by strategy, not by blaming women. Maybe Dominic simply crossed Ethan. Only weak men make excuses."

Men like him always shifted blame onto women to mask their own incompetence.

"You—!"

Kevin Heilbronn's face darkened before twisting into a mocking grin. "You act so bold only because Ethan backs you. Too bad he'll replace you soon. Did you really think you were special?"

Sophia stiffened.

Satisfied by her reaction, Kevin scoffed and walked away.

Ethan leaned against the car seat, eyes closed, the faint scent of alcohol lingering around him.

As the car entered Bayview Residences, Zachary Evans called.

"Mr. Roscente, we've confirmed it was Kevin who deliberately led Ms. Lowell to your private room."

Ethan lazily adjusted his position. "Who?"

"Dominic's childhood friend."

A derisive chuckle escaped him. "Since he's here, make sure he stays. Give him a proper welcome."

This was payback.

Zachary understood immediately. "Understood."

The man had a death wish, playing games under Ethan's nose.

Tonight's incident was no accident. Kevin had spotted Sophia at the bar and set the trap—switching the decorations outside the room to lure her in.

Crude, but effective. Even Zachary had winced at Sophia's shattered expression when she left.

"Sir, should we explain things to Ms. Lowell? She seems to have misunderstood..."

"Misunderstood?" Ethan's voice dripped with disdain. "Only those who care misunderstand. Does she care about me?"

Zachary fell silent.

But when Sophia left, she'd looked utterly broken.

"Don’t spare anyone who meddles where they shouldn’t."

Ethan ended the call irritably—only to hear a timid voice.

"Mr. Roscente...?"

He frowned. It was the girl from the private room—the one who looked like a frightened rabbit.

Bianca Savigny. Twenty. Still in college.

The younger sister of his late comrade.