The man was tall, thin, sweating.
A cara strap was twisted around his neck.
A restaurant staff mber said, ‘Caught him crouched in the stairwell. Phone in hand. Logged into the sa account that posted the photos.’
Rowan stepped forward. ‘Was it you last ti too? Who are you working for?’
The man glanced around the room.
Half a dozen pairs of eyes stared back.
His lips parted without sound, then finally: ‘No one sent . I just wanted the clicks. That’s all. I swear.’
‘Lying.’ Ashton walked towards him. ‘You’ve done this before.’
The man’s knees gave out.
He dropped hard, hands on the floor, breath caught in his throat.
Cassian grabbed his collar, yanked him up, and dragged him towards the door. ‘We’ll see if he talks with fewer teeth.’
The door slamd.
Two dull thuds followed.
Then silence.
Cassian reappeared minutes later, sleeves pushed to his elbows. ‘He cracked. Said soone hired him.’
He dragged the man back into the room by one arm. ‘Go on. Tell them.’
The man’s face was dry, no bruises, no swelling.
But his arms shook, and his spine wouldn’t hold.
He sank down onto the floor, legs spread awkwardly.
‘I never saw her in person. Just a phone call. She sounded young. Gave one job. That’s it. I only have her number.’
He recited it slowly, digits slurred.
Ashton unlocked his phone.
The number was already saved.
He called.
The line cut off imdiately.
Automated voice. Number was powered off.
He tried again.
Sa result.
He lowered the phone.
Cassian leaned in, squinting at the contact na on the screen. ‘Why are you calling your wife right now?’
He blinked. His face shifted.
‘Wait. That number’s hers?’ Cassian shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t.’
Rowan’s brow creased. ‘I’ve t Mrs Laurent before. She didn’t strike as the type to pull sothing like this.’
Ashton watched her from the corner of his eye.
She’d been in the background since the photo surfaced, quiet, observant.
Now she was defending Mirabelle.
That threw him.
Rowan glanced at the man on the floor. ‘Could be a mix-up. Or he saved the wrong number.’
‘I didn’t!’ The man raised his voice. ‘That’s the number that called . Every ti. If you don’t believe , I’ll show you.’
He pulled out a scratched phone, tapped quickly, and held it up.
Ashton didn’t even glance at it.
If the goal was to fra Mirabelle, every detail would’ve been planted.
The others gathered around the screen.
‘It’s the sa number he said before.’
‘Multiple calls. Looks real.’
‘Christ. It’s Mrs Laurent’s.’
‘Wait, when did he get married?’
Their voices dropped as Ashton’s head turned.
The silence that followed felt sharp.
He stared at the man. ‘You’re lying.’
The man’s eyes widened.
He slamd his palm against the floor. ‘I’m not! I’ve got no reason to lie! If I made this up, that guy there would’ve broken my jaw by now! She called, she told to follow you. She wanted to know who you were eating with, who you were seeing. That’s all. I told you everything.’
One of the executives gave a dry chuckle. ‘Looks like Mrs Laurent is the worrying type. I get it. My wife used to do the sa thing.’
Another chid in, tone light. ‘Yeah. It’s actually a good thing. I an, it’s not a paparazzi or sothing like that.’
Ashton didn’t speak.
The air in the room thinned.
Rowan’s voice broke through, clipped and breezy. ‘Can’t bla her entirely. She probably panicked. You’re always out, dinner etings, late nights... She’s young. Got in her head, that’s all. She likely thought this was the only way to make sure you weren’t... fooling around.’
She smiled faintly as she said it.
Ashton stepped forward, stopped in front of the man on the floor, and drove his heel into the back of the man’s hand.
The man scread, spine arching.
He tried yanking his arm back, but Ashton pressed harder.
‘Say it again,’ Ashton said quietly. ‘Who sent you.’
The man’s mouth opened, but only sharp breath ca out.
His legs jerked.
When he tried twisting away, Ashton shifted his weight, grinding down.
The man sobbed through clenched teeth. ‘I told you everything. I don’t know her na. I didn’t see her face. She paid , told where to go. That’s it. I swear. Just let go, I’m not lying. Please...’
Rowan stepped closer, voice softer now. ‘He doesn’t look like he’s bluffing. But still... maybe it’s worth asking Mrs Laurent directly, Ashton? One more call couldn’t hurt.’
Ashton lifted his foot slowly.
The man on the floor curled his hand against his chest, teeth clenched, eyes wet.
Ashton’s fingers tightened around his phone.
He tapped the screen, held it to his ear, and waited.
Still nothing.
That sa flat, synthetic voice ca on: The number you have dialled...
He lowered the phone.
She should’ve left the venue by now.
Her phone should’ve been on.
Soone muttered near the wall, ‘Guess she’s panicking. Must’ve clocked she got caught.’
Rowan’s voice followed quickly. ‘Don’t be too hard on her. She probably just didn’t think it through. No real harm done, anyway. She caught in the shot, but who cares? I don’t bla her. Just talk to her when you get ho.’
Ashton looked at her. ‘It wasn’t her.’
Rowan’s lips parted again. Her voice was soft, vaguely confused. ‘How do you know?’
‘My wife would never pull sothing behind my back. This man’s story is shit.’
‘But...’
‘If Mirabelle really hired him, he’d have delivered the photos directly to her. Quietly. No one else would’ve seen them. He wouldn’t have leaked them online. That makes no sense.’
He watched Rowan’s face while he spoke.
Her lashes fluttered once. Her pupils tightened.
‘If my wife really hired him, the photos would’ve been complete. Nothing trimd. That post cut Cas out completely. And what kind of idiot uses her personal number to call a paparazzo directly?’
Then he smiled.
‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind if she did. At least I’d know she gives a damn what I’m up to. I’d take that.’
He glanced around the room.
No one knew what to say.
Ashton added the final nail in the coffin, ‘By the way, my wife’s out of town. She didn’t know I was having dinner here tonight. This man said he was sent here to watch , which ans soone knew my exact movents.’
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