Celeste tossed his clothes at him.
“Go home.”
He looked surprised.
“Mr. Hartwell?”
“You’ve got nothing left to do here.”
Damien gave me a long, resentful glance before slipping on his clothes, fastening the expensive watch she’d bought him. Then he left without another word.
I stayed kneeling, unmoving.
Not because I wanted to—but because the pain in my knees was sharp and raw. Even the smallest shift hurt.
Celeste’s voice turned cold.
“Still nothing to say?”
I shook my head.
She clenched her jaw.
“It’s just the two of us here. No listening devices. You can talk freely.”
“I know,” I replied quietly.
She threw her cigarette to the ground and stormed toward me. One hand gripped my neck, the other held up a photo of a woman.
“You and I both know she’s the killer. Why won’t you testify? What’s your connection to her?”
I stared at the woman in the photo and let out a bitter laugh.
“I don’t know her.”
“Then why protect her?”
I met Celeste’s furious gaze, unwavering.
“I’m not protecting her.”
She shoved me to the floor, pacing the room like a storm waiting to break.
“Was my brother not good to you?”
At the mention of Alden, my throat tightened. My eyes stung.
I shook my head.