CHAPTER 23: The Weight of Their Lies
The front door slammed.
Sophia stepped in, her heels sharp against the tiles, eyes burning with quiet rage. She barely had time to drop her purse when her father's booming voice thundered from the living room.
"Where the hell have you been, Valerie?!"
Valerie stood still, pale and silent, in the middle of the room. Her hands were clasped behind her back. Her eyes — tired, shadowed from travel and work — met no one's. She looked like she'd just walked into a trap.
Mrs. Hudson stood to the side, arms folded, watching like a judge waiting for a confession.
Mr. Hudson paced, his voice rising.
"You disappeared for days! No message, no call. And you return like nothing happened? Do you think this is a brothel? Do you think this house is your playground?!"
Valerie opened her mouth, unsure of what to say. She couldn't explain where she'd been — the VIP retreat was confidential. Even if she tried, no one here ever believed her.
Sophia stepped forward, calmly removing her coat.
"Should I tell you where she's been, Dad?" she said sweetly.
Mr. Hudson turned to her. "You know?"
"Oh yes," Sophia nodded. "I met with King Albanian today."
Mrs. Hudson's eyebrows shot up. Her father leaned in.
"And?"
Sophia looked right at Valerie, her words slow, cruel.
"King said Valerie tried to seduce him. She drugged him and spent the night in his hotel room."
"He said she tried to trap him."
Mr. Hudson's hand slammed against the table.
"You disgusting girl!" he roared, turning on Valerie. "So this is what you do? Spreading your legs for rich men, hoping to get pregnant with power?! Are you so desperate for relevance?!"
Valerie's breath caught.
She hadn't known the man that night was King Albanian. She hadn't known he even noticed her. She had never — not even once — tried to seduce him. The night was a blur of pain and confusion. Now, that single mistake was being turned into poison.
She stepped back, eyes wide, heart pounding.
"That's not true…"
Sophia scoffed.
"Then tell us where you've been. Tell us who that man was."
Silence.
Valerie couldn't answer.
Mr. Hudson laughed coldly.
"You can't even deny it properly. Look at you — worthless, shameless, bringing disgrace to the Hudson name. I should've known when you started sleeping in late and sneaking out like a harlot."
He raised his hand.
But this time, Valerie's voice cut clean through the air.
"Don't touch me."
Everyone froze.
Valerie raised her chin, her voice unwavering.
"You want to hit me? Then do it. But after that, bring King Albanian here. Let him say those words himself. Let him tell you I tried to trap him."
Her father's arm hung midair.
Sophia's smile faltered.
Valerie's voice turned colder.
"You always believe her. She lies, and you clap. She schemes, and you praise. But me? You call me a whore. A prostitute. Without even asking why I left."
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
"I was saving someone's life. But I guess that's not worth as much as your daughter's lies."
Silence.
Mrs. Hudson turned away.
Mr. Hudson lowered his hand but said nothing. The fury was still in his eyes, but his power was cracking.
Sophia, flustered, tried to speak again, but Valerie looked at her — really looked at her — for the first time.
"You've done this your whole life. And I let you. But not anymore."
She turned and walked away.
For once, the Hudson house had no insults left to hurl.
......
The suite was silent, but the silence no longer gave King peace.
It had been four days since his meeting with Sophia. Four nights of unrest, of pacing the marbled floors, of lying awake with his shirt half-unbuttoned, staring into shadows that refused to hold answers.
His body was exhausted—but his mind wouldn't shut down.
The scent that once lingered—delicate, wild, unforgettable—had faded from the room. No incense, no candle, no bottled perfume could recreate it. The memory of that night haunted him: the warmth in the sheets, the pulse in the silence, the calm that wrapped around his storm.
Now, every corner of the suite felt hollow. He moved restlessly from the bed to the balcony and back, his eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched, hair slightly disheveled—unusual for a man known for pristine control.
Wayne had been watching closely, quietly. But this morning, the concern was unmistakable.
Wayne (softly):
"Sir, it's not my place, but… perhaps you should consider sleeping aids. Or maybe—ask Miss Sophia to make another calming pill? You said it worked."
King turned, slowly. His voice was low, husky from sleeplessness.
King:
"I don't want her pill. I want that peace again."
Wayne hesitated, then spoke carefully.
Wayne:
"But she said she made the pills. If you want more, it might help—"
King:
"She lied."
There was no emotion in his voice, just certainty. But he didn't push the topic further.
Scene Shift: King's Flashback and Unspoken Longing
King found himself sitting by the suite's bar counter that night, drink untouched.
A ghost of a memory brushed against his skin—the feeling of someone leaning close, her breath soft against his neck, her energy unafraid of his darkness. He didn't know her name, but she'd left with pieces of him he never even knew he could lose.
He closed his eyes.
Her voice... her scent... her silence.
All of it more healing than any pill, any therapy, any meditation his advisors had tried over the years.
And now, he couldn't sleep.
Scene Transition: Next Morning – King's Breaking Point
At 5 AM, the suite's main doors slammed open. Wayne startled awake in the adjoining room.
King barked out:
King:
"Call Sophia. I'll take the damn pill. Set up a meeting now."
His voice was harsh—but something had cracked in it.
Wayne (quietly):
"Yes, sir."