Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 145: Her Silence, His Storm [IV]

The hospital doors slid shut behind me, sealing in the smell of bleach and beeping machines, but none of it left my mind.

Cameron was already waiting by the car, door open, suit immaculate as always. He didn’t speak as I got in.

The door closed. The engine purred to life.

"Drive," I snapped.

Cameron merged into traffic without question.

"Updates?" I asked, eyes fixed ahead. My voice was ice. Detached, but coiled with heat beneath it.

"We’ve confirmed sabotage," Cameron said. "Spa security footage was wiped. Logs tampered with. Backup servers? Full of data gaps—right where there shouldn’t be any."

I turned my head slowly, one brow lifting. "And you’re wasting my time with obvious facts... why?"

Cameron didn’t flinch. "Because of who wiped them."

My jaw tightened.

"Someone knew what they were doing," he continued. "The logs were deleted clean—no basic script, no amateur job. Whoever did it covered their tracks and planted a looped backup to mask the deletion. We’re pulling fragments now, but—"

"Spare me the excuses," I said flatly. "Of course everything will be wiped clean! What, did you expect them to leave a signed confession and a trail of breadcrumbs leading straight to their front door? You think I assumed amateurs almost killed her? The moment you tell me the sun rises in the east, I swear to God, Cameron—"

"There are suspects," Cameron said, cutting in before I could throw another insult.

That made me pause.

"How many?" I asked.

"Two."

I leaned back slightly. "Talk."

"The first is a technician. Spa maintenance. He was seen on a hallway cam lingering near the sauna door right before the main CCTV cut out. Paused longer than necessary. He had a wire visible in his back pocket—matched one of the control cables for the hydro settings."

"And the second?"

"One of the massage therapists," Cameron said grimly. "Female. She handled some of the scheduling and was in the wing earlier that day. The banking team flagged her account—she received a transfer two hours before the incident. Amount was... large."

"How large."

"Six figures."

I stared out the window, eyes narrowing.

"Both are in a holding facility," Cameron continued. "We’ve got a clean site downtown. No official ties to us. We’ve begun the interrogation. Neither has spoken."

"They will."

"Gray has arranged for our private security lead to step in," he added, tone calm, professional. "The one you used in Prague."

My lips curved—just barely. "Good."

Silence settled. Cool air thrummed from the vents. I rolled my thumb over the edge of my cuff, a tiny habit that kept my hands from cracking the leather armrest.

I closed my eyes for a brief second, letting the weight of it all pool and press in. Then I opened them again. Sharper. Colder.

"Drive. Faster."

****

The walls of the downtown site were bare concrete, the air dry and cold. No windows. No clock. No noise.

Silence was the first knife.

I stood behind the glass pane, arms crossed, watching the woman shift in her seat. The massage therapist. Early thirties. Designer nails. Shaky breath. Her hands hadn’t stopped fidgeting since they cuffed her to the table.

Cameron stood beside me, arms behind his back. Still, silent. Just like I taught him.

Inside the room, gray leaned against the wall—bored. A folding chair sat untouched in the corner. This wasn’t that kind of conversation.

He hadn’t laid a hand on her yet.

"Begin."

My voice barely echoed through the private surveillance room.

Gray straightened at the sound of my voice. His expression remained unreadable as he turned to the woman, now visibly sweating despite the chill in the room.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t need to. Gray’s silence was worse than shouting. He was the kind of man who could make you confess your sins with a look. Or pull them from your mouth with pliers, depending on how stubborn you were.

The woman flinched as he walked to the metal table and placed a black case on its surface. He clicked it open slowly. Deliberately. The sound was surgical.

Inside: instruments. Clean. Organized.

Her eyes widened when she saw the pliers.

"I—I told you," she stammered. "I don’t know anything."

Gray didn’t respond. He reached for the pliers and held them up to the light, inspecting them like a jeweler would a diamond. Then he placed them back down with reverent care.

The woman’s breathing hitched.

"One question," Gray said finally, voice low. "Answer correctly, you keep your nails. Lie, and you start losing them. One by one."

Her face went pale.

Cameron didn’t react beside me. We both knew Gray wasn’t bluffing.

Gray stepped closer. "Who paid you?"

Her lips trembled, but no sound came out. Her eyes darted to the mirrored wall—to us.

Wrong move.

Gray picked up the pliers.

She gasped. "Wait—wait! I’ll talk. I swear."

I stepped forward, letting the overhead mic catch my voice.

"Then talk," I said, coldly. "What did you do?"

She swallowed hard. "I didn’t do anything bad. I swear. I—I was just told to help a friend. She just... she came to ask for an extra towel. She said it was just a new eye treatment. Nothing dangerous. She gave me money."

I stared.

Eye product? Hold on.. they did something to her before the hydrotherapy accident?

"What product?" I asked, my voice echoing into the room.

The therapist’s voice wavered. "It was... a little sachet. She said to chill it first. Then just... tuck it into the cucumber slices we place over the eyes. That it would dissolve naturally from the moisture."

I held up a hand. "Wait."

She stopped instantly.

I turned to Cameron. "Did she say cucumber?"

"She did," he confirmed.

I pressed the intercom again. "What cucumber."

The woman licked her lips. "For eye treatment. The—uh, cucumber slices. It’s standard. We chill them in the fridge before use. The woman said she just wanted her friend to experience the product without bias. That it was all-natural and good for puffiness."

"You believed that?"

"I didn’t think it was dangerous," she whispered. "It looked... high-end. Like spa-grade. I thought it was legit. I didn’t think—I mean, she was calm. Smiling."

"And you didn’t report it."

"She said not to. Said it would spoil the surprise."

"Describe her."

"She has a blonde hair. She came with... with the older woman. The one everyone was treating like royalty. And the girl. The one who got hurt."

My gaze didn’t shift.

I simply exhaled.

"Clara."

I turned off the intercom and stepped back from the glass.

Cameron raised a brow. "You didn’t know about the cucumber thing?"

"No," I said flatly. "No one mentioned it to me."

He blinked. "You think she was targeted before the pool?"

I stared ahead, jaw ticking.

"Why would she do that?" I muttered to myself. "Because of the boutique incident? Some twisted way to get even?"

It didn’t make sense.

I exhaled slowly, shaking my head. "I’ll deal with her later."

"I think," I said to cam, "someone wanted to test something first. To see how she’d react. The fainting wasn’t random. It was precision. This—this was the first attempt."

Cameron nodded once, then gave a signal.

The door opened. Two guards stepped in.

"Take her back," I ordered. "Don’t touch her again. She’s already given enough."

The woman sobbed quietly as they led her out.

"What next?" Cameron asked

I didn’t answer immediately. I was already thinking ahead.

"Bring me the technician."

Gray moved to comply, slipping out of the room like a shadow.

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