?<strong>Chapter 153:</strong>


    Whatever drug was coursing through her veins left her limbs weak and her mind spinning.


    She was cornered, her pulse racing with fear at the thought of being alone with him.


    Struggling to regain control, Carrie steadied her voice. “Thank you for helping me. I got turned around while looking for something to eat. Could I borrow your phone to call the film crew?”


    Nate shook his head gently. “No need. I’ve already called the police. They’ll be here any minute. You’ll need to give them a statement before you go anywhere.”


    As if on cue, the wail of sirens broke the stillness of the night, the shing red and blue lights announcing the arrival of thew.


    Nate stepped back, gesturing for Carrie to step out of the car. Behind him, a line of bodyguards stood like statues, holding umbres that barely kept the rain at bay.


    On the ground nearby, two men writhed in defeat, subdued and soaked, their faces a picture of drunken regret.


    Carrie blinked at the scene, taken aback by the fact that Nate had actually called the authorities.


    Her guard loosened, but suspicion still flickered at the edges of her thoughts. Was this really an ident, or had he somehow orchestrated everything?


    Looking at Nate, Carrie’s initial animosity wavered. Until now, they had been strangers despite sharing the same high-society circles.


    Her dislike for him had always been fueled by Tristan’s incessant pressure to marry for business interests and the unsavory rumors surrounding Nate.


    But as she reflected, she realized that Nate had never wronged her directly. The Crawford family’s involvement in the arranged marriage had been more of a pawn move by her stepmother and Tristan than anything orchestrated by Nate himself.


    Perhaps, like her, he was merely a victim of someone else’s machinations.


    The police officers, having taken stock of the situation, turned to the men sprawled on the ground. “You two again?” one officer barked, exasperation clear in his voice. “Attempted assault this time? That’s not a p-on-the-wrist offense.”


    “You’re looking at some serious time.”


    During the statement process, Carrie pieced together the full story.


    The officers exined that the two men were unemployed locals who had recentlye into a windfall from a demolition payout. They’d squandered it on booze and gambling, bing familiar faces at the station for their petty crimes.


    Tonight, it seemed, was just another misstep in their downhill spiral.


    “Looks like they slipped you some kind of knockout drug,” one officer said, his tone softening. “You’ll feel off for a bit, but it won’t do anysting harm. We’ll take you to the hospital for an IV, and you should be back to normal by tomorrow.”


    “Would you like us to notify your family?” the officer asked.


    With the immediate danger gone and the police’s presence reassuring, Carrie felt her earlier desperation ebb.


    The fleeting wish for Kristopher to appear had evaporated—after all, when had he evere through for her in moments like this?


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