CHAPTER 26: CHAPTER 26: HYPOCRITE

"I don’t like it."

Jean Ellison tilted her head, refusing to look at him.

Justin Holden stood before her, his demeanor cold and aloof, like snow resting on a distant mountain.

Staring at her for a long time, he said in a deep voice, "You still have such poor taste in men."

Jean’s heart suddenly skipped two beats.

Still so poor... why did he say "still"?

She tried to calm herself, opened her mouth, "When have I ever picked a man?"

Justin Holden was the one she had personally chosen, and when she thought back on it now, she realized how blind she had been back then.

"The pretty boy from the day before yesterday, and today the hypocrite, right?"

His voice was as calm as a secluded mountain stream, with no discernible emotion other than indifference.

The pretty boy Justin Holden referred to was Doctor Sterling. Although Jean was displeased, she could relate.

Simon Sterling was tall, lean, and elegant, with a pale complexion, and his exposed skin was even whiter than the white coat he wore.

But what right did he have to call Philip Paxton a hypocrite?

Her eyes widened in anger, and it seeped from within her onto her face.

"Shut up, how dare you insult Officer Paxton."

Justin Holden lowered his head with a mocking smile, his deep black eyes focused back on her face, and the smile vanished from his lips.

"Didn’t you notice the way he was looking at you?"

Jean’s eyes flickered slightly, she couldn’t recall the way Philip Paxton looked at her; standing beside him, her attention wasn’t focused on his face.

Listening to what he had to say was enough, why bother with his gaze?

Justin Holden stepped closer again, this time their bodies were almost touching.

He reached out his hand and grasped her wrist.

She had nowhere left to retreat, feeling his familiar presence, her heart pounded fiercely.

Suddenly, he leaned in, his neat, short hair brushing against her cheek, his thin lips close to her ear, his hot breath spraying on her delicate and sensitive neck.

"Do you believe that tonight when he goes back, he will definitely be using your picture for some unspeakable desires to fulfill his lust for you."

Jean froze, meeting his meaningful gaze, and instantly understood.

"Impossible!"

She denied it like an angry little lion, her face flushed.

Philip Paxton had always treated her like a sister, even Officer Dalton had never suspected, what right did Justin Holden have to desecrate their brother-sister bond.

Justin’s brows lowered, seeing her disbelief, he sneered and said, "I recognize the way he looks at you."

Jean’s mind went blank, stunned for a few seconds, realizing what he meant.

"You, you’re shameless."

He had done that kind of thing too, using a woman’s photos to satisfy his desires.

Was it Wendy Wallace?

Did he think of Wendy Wallace all those times when he was with her?

Jean felt a little discomfort in her stomach, her face turned paler, shifting from anger to a sense of helplessness.

"Anyway, you got the person, didn’t you? All those feelings you had satisfying your desires with photos weren’t in vain either."

Justin Holden contemplated for a moment, letting out a soft "hmm."

"I’m not like him, I dare to admit it, but he doesn’t."

Jean’s expression worsened, inside she cursed his ancestors thoroughly.

Truly shameless.

"In the future, if it doesn’t concern legal matters, I hope Lawyer Holden doesn’t interfere in my personal life, and let’s pretend we don’t know each other even if we meet."

Jean didn’t believe what he said was true, Officer Paxton wouldn’t do that, and he didn’t even have her photos.

The only photos she had given Philip Paxton were a few blue-background ID photos for processing documents, including those for her release.

She didn’t believe someone could have desires for an ID photo.

If such a person existed, how beastly they must be.

Justin Holden furrowed his brow, remembering something he hadn’t mentioned, unrelated to the case.

The person who messaged her last night was Samual Pryce, and the woman coming out of the kitchen this morning was also Samual Pryce’s person, having nothing to do with him.

He quickened his pace, trying to block her path.

A Land Rover sped over, stopping between them. The car window rolled down, and Vic rested his arm on the window edge, waving to Jean.

"Miss Ellison, I’m here to pick you up."

Earlier, when she got lost, she had already messaged Vic for help.

Jean opened the car door and got in directly.

Vic steered the wheel, noticing the man standing not too far away seemed familiar, with a tall figure, dressed in an expensive dark suit, with a cool and stern appearance.

Isn’t this Senior Counselor Holden?

He had just seen him at the school celebration not long ago, who had spent a hundred thousand to buy a stack of old photos, a true blunder.

Living in such a good villa, no wonder he doesn’t treat money as money.

Justin Holden didn’t follow, his phone rang, and he answered the call, a young-sounding man’s voice on the other end.

"Lawyer Holden, there’s news on what you asked me to investigate."

Justin Holden rubbed his temple, speaking in a flat tone, "Go on."

"Five years ago, a batch of female prisoners were transferred from Crestwell Women’s Penitentiary elsewhere."

"Is Claire Caldwell among them?"

Justin’s tone became a bit urgent.

"She’s on the list, but according to an insider, Claire Caldwell escaped midway. The surveillance wasn’t perfect at that time, and after several days of searching, they couldn’t find her. The officers responsible kept it under wraps, fearing consequences."

"I checked all the prison records, she’s indeed not on the receiving list."

Justin Holden’s long fingers holding the phone turned red, he paused and then hoarsely asked, "So, she’s really not dead?"

"... Lawyer Holden, there’s something you should know."

The man on the other end hesitated, seemed to want to say something but held back.

"According to Fairmeadow Village, fifty miles away from Kingswell City, there’s an outsider woman called Claire Caldwell, who was sold to the village by human traffickers."

"Villagers say she’s obese and young-looking and couldn’t bear children, and she was recently beaten to death by her husband."

Justin Holden’s face was expressionless, his previously steady breathing paused briefly.

He hung up after a moment’s silence.

His left hand, resting naturally by his side, suddenly clenched, the moon-white cuff strained against his arm, and the sinews on his wrist were clearly visible through the thin fabric.

Unable to bear children...

He recalled the Holdens mentioning that Claire Caldwell’s health wasn’t good, a congenital condition, untreated despite numerous hormone treatments when she was young, likely making it difficult for her to have children later.

He knew about it, always taking proper precautions, in four years of university, she never got pregnant once.

Only that last night, both had drunk a little, yet they continued even after the box was finished.

The prison records might be fake, she didn’t die of an ectopic pregnancy, but rather escaped, was trafficked, and then beaten.

Justin sat in the car, closing his eyes, his Adam’s apple moved faintly downward, then returned swiftly, almost like an illusion.

Was last night’s call just an auditory hallucination after drinking?

The woman’s voice sounded so much like Claire Caldwell.

If she truly died, he would rather it be the former, hoping the prison records were real.

The WhatsApp notification was brief, eliciting no response from him, and soon after, the phone he held buzzed.

He opened his eyes, seeing Zoe Holden’s name on the screen, and picked up the call.

"Take a look at the photos I sent you, see which one you like, I’ll arrange for you to meet them this weekend."