He’d just returned from handling hospital matters to find Alarieka waiting outside Roschelle’s door, clearly itching for trouble. Reckless fool.

Patrick’s approaching footsteps were heavy. Alarieka lifted her gaze to meet his, expression cool and unreadable.

He stopped before her, looking down, his gaze intense. “Alarieka, what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for someone,” she replied casually. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Patrick suddenly seized her wrist, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp in pain.

“Get lost. Don’t linger where you’re not wanted.”

Alarieka took a slow breath, her voice calm. “Can’t do that. You might not want to see me, but Rose might be eager for a chat.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “What scheme are you cooking up now?”

He hadn’t forgotten those two slaps she’d given him.

Alarieka was vicious and arrogant. Rose was pure and kind—no match for her. He wouldn’t let Alarieka cause trouble again.

Patrick tightened his grip on her wrist, trying to drag her away before Rose returned.

“Go! Get lost now!”

Irritated by the struggle, Alarieka snapped, “Patrick, you—”

“Patrick? Alarieka?”

Rose’s voice cut through. Alarieka looked up.

The usually gentle Roschelle Whitaker stood rigid, her eyes locked on Patrick’s hand gripping Alarieka’s wrist, as if trying to stare a hole through it.

Rose forced a smile. “Patrick, what are you doing?”

Patrick flinched, releasing Alarieka instantly. “Rose! It’s not what it looks like!” he blurted, voice urgent.

Roschelle Whitaker’s smile looked strained. “What are you all doing?”

Alarieka Huston rubbed her sore wrist and lifted her gaze to meet a pair of striking, narrow dark eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alarieka saw her own certificate of honor held in Kieran Argent’s hand.

She calmly averted her eyes and turned to Roschelle. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Patrick Schultz whirled around, his voice heavy. “Still not leaving?”

Alarieka snorted softly. “You want me gone? I doubt everyone shares that sentiment.”

Patrick’s tone hardened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Alarieka stepped past Patrick, locking eyes with Roschelle. “We need to talk. Alone.”

The words made Patrick move like a mother hen protecting her chick, instantly positioning himself before Roschelle.

“Alarieka, what exactly are you plotting?”

Even Kieran’s brow twitched slightly, his gaze sharp and icy as it fixed on Alarieka.

Standing opposite the trio, Alarieka felt like some irredeemable villain in this confrontation.

Roschelle shuffled closer to Kieran, her slender fingers pinching the hem of his jacket as she tucked herself behind him. Her eyes watched Alarieka with wary unease.

Ignoring both men, Alarieka kept her focus on Roschelle. “About Sammy Durant. Nothing to tell me?”

Roschelle’s face paled, a flicker of unreadable emotion crossing her eyes before she pressed her lips into silence.

Alarieka caught that fleeting gleam instantly, scoffing inwardly.

Patrick’s laugh dripped sarcasm, his voice cold. “Alarieka, your own dirty dealings caused that mess. Rose had nothing to do with it. Take your grievances elsewhere.”

Compared to Patrick, Kieran dismissed her more directly—as if she were air.

His arm settling protectively around Roschelle’s shoulders, Kieran’s voice softened to a low murmur. “Go rest in your room. I’ll handle this.”

Roschelle looked up at him, warmth and adoration flooding her expression. Her eyes sparkled, her smile deep, her voice feather-soft.

“Okay. Thank you, Kieran.”

Kieran gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “Go on.”

Nodding, Roschelle deliberately circled to Kieran’s opposite side—putting maximum distance between herself and Alarieka.

Alarieka didn’t stop her. She simply lowered her head to her phone, fingers tapping on the screen.

All three watched her movements.

Patrick’s brow furrowed tightly. Even though Alarieka was merely scrolling, his instincts screamed that this cunning, unscrupulous woman was plotting something against Roschelle.