“Nobody upstairs mentioned this!”
“You think you can play us for fools?!”
The man’s patience was wearing thin. “Damn it! I’m serving you drinks myself, and this is how you act? Drink it already!”
Mirabelle’s smile vanished. She stood up to leave.
But before she could take a step, they rushed at her, grabbing her arms and spraying something in her face–a sedative, clearly prepared in advance.
“Ma’am, are you sure something of yours was stolen? And you’re certain the thief ran into this room?”
Celestine nodded.
“Our club is very selective–there’s no way we’d let a thief slip inside,” the assistant manager protested, trying to reason with her.
This was a private club, members only. They wouldn’t just let anyone off the street wander in. If this woman weren’t a member, they’d have shown her the door long
ago.
Celestine crossed her arms, standing in front of the door to suite 303, her chin
raised. “If you’re so confident, then have everyone inside come out. I remember the thief’s face. If he’s not there, I’ll apologize to each of them in person and cover their expenses for tonight.”
Based on the hushed conversation she’d overheard, the people inside probably had powerful connections. If she insisted on the truth, the club would likely stall for time–or worse, cover for them.
So she lied, boldly claiming her wallet had been stolen upstairs and that the thief had run into room 303.
The staff exchanged uncomfortable glances, but when she flashed her gold membership card, they took her seriously and called the assistant manager over.
Celestine added, “And have a few security guards ready, just in case. If you open the door and the thief bolts, they might run into other guests. Not everyone’s as forgiving as I am.”
1.72
14:28
With no other choice, the assistant manager summoned several burly guards.
They knocked. At first, there was no answer from inside.
But the assistant manager was certain the suite was occupied tonight.
He knocked again, a bit more insistently.
Suddenly, muffled shouts erupted from inside.
“Get lost! Knock again and I’ll kill you!”
“Help!” A woman’s voice, weak and trembling, cried out after the man’s angry bark.
Everyone in the hall went pale.
Celestine’s voice was ice–cold. “What are you waiting for? Are you hoping they’ll rob and kill someone in there?”
The assistant manager, sweating bullets, hurried to unlock the door with a spare key.
The moment the door swung open, Celestine grabbed the nearest vase and charged inside.
Two men stood in the middle of the chaos, scrambling to pull on their pants.
She hurled the vase at them, and as they ducked, she rushed to the sofa to check
on Mirabelle.
Mirabelle’s face was streaked with bruises, her clothes torn to shreds–but thankfully, it hadn’t gone any further than that.
Relief flooded through Celestine.
She shrugged off her own coat and wrapped it around Mirabelle’s shaking shoulders.
Mirabelle’s sobs grew louder, ragged with terror.
Celestine stroked her back, soothing her. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve already called the police.”
The guards had the two men pinned to the ground.
When the assistant manager realized Celestine had called the police, his face
turned ashen.
He’d been set up, and only now did it dawn on him.
2/3
14:28
His voice was bitter. “Ma’am, what is the meaning of this?”
Celestine looked up, her tone calm but steely. “What, is drugging and assaulting women a common occurrence at your club? If word gets out, do you think your doors will stay open? If you’re thinking of silencing me, forget it–the police must be here by now. Even if you’d like to cover for these two rapists, you’d better think hard about which side you want to be on.”
The assistant manager’s face went ghostly white.
This woman had come prepared.
