Roschelle Whitaker tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear, wearing the pitiful look of someone who’d narrowly escaped disaster, and murmured softly: “I meant to hold onto you, but you let go too fast. I couldn’t catch you.”
Roschelle Whitaker furrowed her delicate brows, stepping back to Kieran Argent’s side. She looped her arm through his and whispered, “It’s my fault too. I didn’t pull you away.”
At these words, the crowd’s expressions shifted, their gazes toward Alarieka Huston turning skeptical.
So was Alarieka Huston reaching out to Roschelle Whitaker just for show?
Roschelle Whitaker turned to Kieran Argent, her eyes brimming with bashfulness and adoration. “Kieran rushed to drag me away too. We didn’t notice you.”
Someone in the crowd snorted coldly: “Told you Alarieka was performing.”
Alarieka Huston lifted her head toward the ceiling, face and lips bloodless, her tone flat: “You’re saying I risked my life trying to grab you twice – got shaken off twice – and even took an iron frame to the leg for a performance?”
She laughed bitterly: “Isn’t that too high a price for acting?”
“If I wanted attention, wouldn’t it be easier to just stand here shouting ‘run away’ with your fans?”
Roschelle Whitaker and her fans froze simultaneously.
Roschelle Whitaker, steel-nerved, kept her smile perfectly intact: “Alarieka, you’ve misunderstood. I never meant-”
One fan muttered through gritted teeth: “What’s she implying? Mocking us?”
Alarieka Huston shut her eyes against the ankle pain, forcing her voice steady: “Without surveillance footage, I’d have no way to prove myself.”
“Right, Ms. Whitaker?” Alarieka said. “The cameras must’ve caught you slapping my hand away the first time I tried to pull you.”
Roschelle Whitaker opened her mouth, eyes wide with flustered innocence: “No – I was panicking, that’s why-”
Paloma Wyatt’s sharp gaze swept between Alarieka Huston and Roschelle Whitaker several times. A woman in her forties, she’d seen more of life than these youngsters combined. How could she miss the tension?
Paloma Wyatt’s voice turned stern: “Enough. Everyone clear out. Stop crowding and give Alarieka space.”
The crowd shuffled backward at her command.
Alarieka Huston clenched her eyes shut. The throbbing in her ankle hadn’t eased – if anything, it grew sharper with each passing second. She didn’t dare move, fingers desperately clutching her pant fabric like a futile distraction.
She didn’t regret trying to save Roschelle Whitaker. Had anyone else been under that iron frame today, she’d have rushed in just the same. She only regretted not seeing through Roschelle Whitaker’s self-sabotage ploy before charging in – landing herself in this mess.
Eyes closed, she ignored the crowd buzzing with hidden agendas.
Suddenly, the silence deepened. Not like before – this stillness felt suffocating, as if the air itself had frozen.
Alarieka Huston heard Roschelle Whitaker’s voice: “Kieran.”
A chill crept above her ankle – fingers brushing against her skin.
Alarieka Huston’s eyes snapped open to find Kieran Argent crouched beside her leg, his hand resting on her calf. Though his expression remained unreadable, his gaze was fixed on her fractured ankle.
Alarieka’s brow furrowed slightly as his fingers neared her ankle. Her voice low and warning, she said, “Kieran Argent, don’t push your luck.”
Kieran’s fingers merely brushed her calf before he lifted his head. His eyes met hers with detached coldness before looking away.
“Definitely broken. I’ll contact an orthopedic specialist. Rest well – I’ll arrange care for you.”
Suspicion flickered in Alarieka’s eyes. “No need for your concern, Mr. Argent.”
Roschelle Whitaker’s heart clenched. Had that fall actually stirred Kieran’s pity for Alarieka?
“Kieran…” Roschelle called out softly.
Kieran responded with a hum, returning to Roschelle’s side. His tone brooked no argument: “You got hurt because of Rose. I take responsibility. I’ll cover medical costs and compensation. You’re a high school senior – if you need tutors to avoid disrupting studies, I’ll arrange them.”