Rising from the Ashes The Heiress They Tried to Erase Novel

Chapter 369: Dropping the phone onto the counter, Roland took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. He splashed another handful of cold water onto his face, the icy sting grounding him. After a quick rinse, he reached for the door, hesitated for a heartbeat, then pulled it open. Pattie stood there, waiting. Fully dressed, she leaned casually against the doorframe, one slender hand resting lightly on the knob as if she had all the time in the world. Roland flinched, quickly ducking half-behind the door like a startled teenager.

"Why are you still here?" "I was talking to you earlier, but you did not answer," Pattie said with a calm shrug. "You drank too much last night, and I was worried you might faint in the bathroom. I had to make sure you were okay before I left." Roland opened his mouth, searching for the right words, but nothing came out. After an uncomfortable pause, he finally managed, "Last night... even if something happened, it was just because I was drunk-" "Relax," Pattie interrupted smoothly, arms folding over her chest as a playful smirk tugged at her lips.

"Nothing happened." Her gaze danced with mischief as she watched Roland struggle. Seeing the famously composed lawyer stutter like a schoolboy was a rare kind of entertainment. "You puked all over yourself after drinking too much," she added, nodding toward the sofa, where a blanket lay neatly folded. "I had someone help clean you up. I slept over there, just to make sure you didn't choke on your own vomit." Roland blinked, caught between embarrassment and gratitude. "Really?" "I would never take advantage of someone vulnerable," Pattie said, her voice rich with mock sincerity.

ᗰ尺乇 ひ卩ᗪ卂ㄒ乇丂 丨几 galηveƖs. ¢σм Then she paused, a teasing glint lighting up her face as she added, "Of course, if you regret missing the opportunity, I wouldn't mind giving you a second chance." Before Roland could summon a comeback, Pattie spun on her heel and strolled out, the door clicking shut behind her with maddening grace. For a moment, Roland stood frozen, then finally let out a slow breath. His mind replayed her words like a stubborn echo. She had stayed the whole night to look after him? An hour later, Roland had returned to form.

Dressed in a crisp white shirt, his rose gold Rolex gleaming subtly against his wrist, he looked every inch the polished elite. His expression was calm, collected - the man who thrived on pressure. After checking his watch, he stepped out into the afternoon sun. This visit to Wront was not personal. There was important business waiting. At two in the afternoon, inside Wront Prison. In the visitors' room, Roland sat alone at the worn table, his fingers scrolling absently through case documents on his phone. The heavy door creaked open, dragging his attention up.

Sliding the phone into his pocket, Roland rose to his feet as a woman stepped in. She was not what he expected. Poised and elegant, she crossed the room with the effortless grace of someone who owned the space rather than someone confined by it. A cigarette dangled lazily between her fingers, smoke curling in the air. "So, you are his only protégé?" she asked, settling into the chair with the ease of a queen surveying her court. Roland hesitated. It was supposed to be a prison meeting room, yet the woman before him acted as if she were hosting a private lounge gathering.

He had expected someone worn down by prison life - faded, bitter, hardened by time. . . .