CHAPTER 44: The Many Faces of Alexander Westcott

　　The phone screen pulsed accusingly in my hand, the name "Alexander Westcott" taunting me.

　　My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a strange mix of confusion and excitement bubbling in my gut. Against every shred of common sense, my thumb hovered over the call button.

　　Just as I was about to drop it, the phone shrieked back to life, the ringtone a jarring interruption to the doubts swirling in my head. I snatched it up, the caller ID a confirmation of my earlier guess.

　　"Hello?" I answered, my voice breathless.

　　"Miss Evelyn?" A hesitant voice filled my ear. "This is Julian, Mr. Westcott's driver."

　　Relief washed over me, so intense it almost felt like disappointment. "Julian, hi. Everything alright?"

　　"Well, that's the thing, Miss Evelyn," Julian stammered, and I could practically hear the worry lacing his voice. "It's quite late, and Mr. Westcott… he insists on staying at an unbecoming place. He won't budge, and I'm not sure what to do."