Chapter 989: Besse Stays at Oscar's Place

Besse was stunned by Oscar's sincere, determined gaze. She felt she shouldn't question it, pursing her lips in silence. Her anger, however, was directed at him.

But Oscar was already intervening. "I will give you a satisfactory answer," he stated.

Besse was surprised. "You'll give me an answer?"

"I have a responsibility to investigate what happened in Northfield," Oscar replied.

"It's not necessary," Besse refused. "It's a small matter. Mr. Commander, you needn't handle it personally. I can manage it myself."

Oscar watched as she resolutely refused. "I hope you don't get involved at all," Besse continued firmly. "I don't want anyone forced into submission by your power."

"I believe you didn't plagiarize…" Oscar began.

"I know you want to discuss trade exports with Jolencami," Besse interrupted, "but everything has limits. Don't cross the line for personal gain."

Besse suspected Oscar's help stemmed from his desire for Jolencami's cooperation. Oscar maintained eye contact throughout their conversation, while Salem sat quietly beside them, never interrupting.

"Could you drop me at my hotel?" Besse asked.

"Sure thing," Oscar nodded, instructing the driver politely, "Take us back to the hotel."

Silence returned until Oscar spoke, "Sal." He knew Salem felt overlooked.

"Dad?"

Even Besse shifted her attention to Salem, whose quiet presence had been constant since they'd entered the car. His voice made her regret her earlier words; she feared she'd upset him.

"Is there an arts festival next week?" Oscar asked.

"Yes," Salem replied. "Una and I have shows. Una's playing piano, and I'll have a poetry slam."

"Are parents invited?"

"Yes," Salem nodded. "But you don't have to come if you're busy."

Salem's maturity touched Oscar, and even Besse felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm not busy. I'll attend," Oscar assured him.

"Really?" Salem's eyes lit up. He hadn't wanted to impose, but his joy was evident.

"I'll tell Una," Salem exclaimed.

"Okay," Oscar smiled, their conversation easing the tension as they reached the hotel.

Besse opened her door, but Oscar grasped her hand. He quickly released it, apologizing for startling her.

"There are reporters outside," he explained, just as Besse noticed the throng of journalists with cameras and microphones.

Besse paled.

"Do you want me to find another hotel?" he asked.

Besse nodded. Anything was better than a media siege.

The driver took them to a nearby hotel, but again, Besse was recognized. People whispered and took pictures, their indignation apparent. She tried ignoring them while checking in.

The employee, recognizing her, declared, "I'm sorry, miss, but we're fully booked."

Besse frowned. It seemed odd, especially given it wasn't peak season. "What about rooms besides the presidential suites?"

"All our other rooms are full…"

The staff, though respectful, apologized for the inconvenience.

Besse retrieved her ID and left. Outside, the black car remained. The driver approached. "Miss Besse, please get in the car."

Besse hesitated, then complied.

"What's wrong?" Oscar asked.

"No rooms available. Can you take me to another hotel?"

"Alright," Oscar replied, incredulous.

The next hotel was equally full. Besse knew it wasn't a lack of rooms; Northfield had boycotted her. She left again.

The black cars waited. She entered one.

"Still no room?" Oscar asked.

Besse remained silent, sensing Oscar understood the situation.

"If you don't mind staying with me for a while…" Oscar began nervously, his fingers trembling. "I could get you a room, but it would negatively impact my reputation."

"Okay," Besse agreed.

Oscar's heart leaped. Maintaining composure, he instructed the driver, "Let's go home."

As they drove, Besse averted her gaze. She understood the necessity of yielding, though unwillingly.