The CEO’s Masked Secret Wife novel Chapter 121

121 A Vicious Confrontation and a Reckless Escape

“Probably,” Jackson agreed, signaling the waiter for another round. “But that was still satisfying to watch.”

She smiled, reaching for my tic. “Let.me help you forget. Whatever she did, whoever she is–let me make it all disappear for tonight.”

Isabella whirled to face him. “Shut up! This doesn’t concern you!”

“To telling off psychotic women,” Jackson toasted, raising his glass.

Thirty minutes later, we entered a sleek club through a backdoor, bypassing the line that wrapped around the block. The interior was bathed in deep purple lighting, the music pulsing but not overwhelming.

“She reminds me of Hazel,” Damian commented, following my gaze. “The hair.”

“Listen carefully, Isabella,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “I hate you. I’ve always hated you. The only reason I’m tolerating your existence is because your father is blackmailing me.”

“You could say that.”

“You’ll regret this,” she hissed. “Daddy will destroy you!”

“Velvet,” Adrian said with a sly grin. “My cousin just opened it. Very exclusive, very private.”

No, I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. Except that I couldn’t have what I truly

wanted.

“Actually, it does,” Adrian chimed in smoothly. “When you attack one of us, you attack

all of us.”

Damian cleared his throat. “Liam, maybe we should-”

“Kissing my fiancé!” Isabella announced loudly, looking around the room. “Everyone should know that Liam Sterling is officially off the market!”

“It’s not just about the company,” I admitted quietly. “It’s about protecting Hazel and

Leo.”

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121 A Vicious Confrontation and a Reckless Escape

She leaned closer, her lips brushing my car. “I get off at midnight. I could help you forget whatever’s bothering you.”

Jackson snorted. “Your daddy’s offshore accounts aren’t as hidden as he thinks. Maybe someone should tell the SEC about those tax havens.”

“You look like you’re having a rough night,” she murmured, her hand resting on my thigh.

“Gentlemen’s club,” Adrian corrected with a smirk. “Much classier.”

“That one likes you,” Jackson observed.

“Isabella,” I said coldly. “This is a private club. Members only.”

The casino’s ambient noise washed over me as I stared at my cards without really seeing them. My mind kept replaying the same scene: Hazel and that architect, sitting together at Havana, laughing.

Damian exchanged glances with Jackson across the poker table. We’d been at our club’s private gaming room for over an hour, and I’d barely said ten words.

Every muscle in my body tensed as she approached. The other players at nearby tables turned to watch the spectacle.

I shook my head. “I need a clear head tonight.”

Isabella’s face flushed an ugly red. She grabbed my untouched club soda and threw it directly in my face.

I slid the key into the lock. The door opened to reveal a lavishly decorated room with a massive bed dominating the space. Crystal was already there, waiting.

Jackson and Damian exchanged concerned looks, but neither tried to stop me. They knew me well enough to recognize when I’d made up my mind.

“Are you sure about this?” Adrian asked carefully.

“There you are, darling!” she squealed, swaying slightly. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Is this a strip club?” Damian asked, looking around appreciatively.

I calmly wiped my face with the handkerchief Adrian handed me. “Get out, Isabella.

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Before security throws you out.”

“We are not engaged,” I stated firmly, standing up and forcing her off my lap. “And you’re making a fool of yourself.”

She nodded, slipping me a room key with a number scrawled on it. “The club has private suites upstairs. For special clients.”

“From what?” Adrian asked.

“It’s fine,” I cut him off, turning to face Crystal. Her eyes were blue, nothing like Hazel’s vivid green. Good. I needed different. “Midnight, you said?”

The dancers changed, and a petite blonde took the stage. She made eye contact with me immediately, her smile inviting.

“From me,” I said simply. “From the mess that would follow. From having their names dragged through the mud.”

I didn’t join the toast. On stage, a woman with long dark hair began her routine around a silver pole. Despite myself, I found my eyes drawn to her movements–graceful, controlled, powerful.

“And honey,” Damian added with exaggerated sympathy, “do you really think your father’s blackmail material is worse than what we could do to your family’s reputation overnight?”

The silence in the room was deafening, Isabella’s face crumpled, then hardened into

rage.

“For what? More brooding?” Damian quipped, arranging his cards. “Because you’ve perfected that already.”

Adrian checked his phone, then looked up. “Let’s get out of here. I know somewhere

better.”

“Ready to forget?” Crystal whispered, her hands moving to my shirt buttons.

I accepted the glass but didn’t drink. My head was pounding, and the confrontation with Isabella had only made my mood darker.

I drained my glass in one burning swallow and finally reached for the bottle. “Doesn’t

matter.”

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121 A Vicious Confrontation and a Reckless Escape

“I almost did,” I admitted.

“I was afraid you might change your mind,” she said, approaching me slowly.

We were led to a private booth with a perfect view of the main stage. A waitress in a black corset appeared immediately with a bottle of scotch.

Something snapped inside me. All the frustration, anger, and helplessness of the past weeks converged into a single moment of brutal honesty.

I tossed in my chips mechanically. “Call.”

Three drinks later, the blonde dancer approached our table during her break. She introduced herself as Crystal and slid into the space beside me, her perfume overwhelming.

“No, we’re not. You’re a spoiled brat who’s never heard the word ‘no‘ in her entire life.”

I collapsed back into my chair, suddenly exhausted. “She’s going to run straight to her

father.”

“It’s not hollow,” I snapped. “He has evidence that could put my father’s memory and the company in jeopardy.”

Her eyes widened, tears threatening to spill over. “But… but we’re perfect for each other. Everyone says so!”

“Well,” Damian said dryly, “that was entertaining.”

“I ordered ahead,” Adrian explained, pouring generous amounts into crystal tumblers.

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Isabella’s painted smile faltered.

I closed my eyes and stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind me.

The tension broke as soon as the door slammed behind her. Several men at nearby tables raised their glasses to me in silent commiseration.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered, suddenly less certain.

Liam’s POV

As midnight approached, I excused myself, ignoring Damian’s frown of disapproval. The corridor to the private suites was dimly lit, each door marked with a gold number.

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I found room 8 and hesitated, key in hand.

“Don’t,” I warned, my grip tightening on my glass.

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