CHAPTER 27: CHAPTER 27: PUNISHING THE MISTRESS! "HAVE YOU STILL NOT REALIZED YOUR PLACE?

Helping her seize the lead female role, while marginalizing that cripple in the dance troupe—if that’s not fickleness, then what is?

Nina’s blood surged, her heart thundering, as she pinched her bare thigh under armored gloves to prove she wasn’t dreaming.

Just then, Ian Kane gave her leg a pat.

In the semi-darkness, the man’s handsome face appeared even more chiseled and profound, with a cigarette at the corner of his lips, a loose tie, elegant yet rakish.

Nina felt awestruck.

Every cell in her body seemed restless, as she shifted her soft-as-spring-mud body onto his lap, letting out a kitten-like sound, "Mr. Kane..."

Ian Kane drooped his eyelids, sizing up the girl’s ambitious eyes, and sneered softly, "Haven’t you figured out who you are yet?"

Nina shivered, her smile froze, "W-What..."

The man’s large hand slowly lifted her curls, his thumb and forefinger loosely grasping her nape, his voice lazy, "Do you know the difference between you and her?"

Nina vaguely sensed danger, shaking her head lightly.

Ian Kane casually slid his thumb and forefinger, with a nonchalant tone, "I could send you to entertain and sleep with others..."

Nina’s pupils dilated.

Ian Kane blew out a smoke ring, his voice turning a bit cold, "She can’t."

"Those men, even a glance at her is not allowed!"

With that, he pressed the cigarette butt against Nina’s thigh, "Get off."

The belated burning pain hit her, and Nina was about to scream but covered her mouth in fright, quickly fleeing from his legs, stumbling out of the car.

Ian Kane glanced contemptuously at Nina’s ragged retreating figure, picked up his phone and dialed Vera Sheridan’s number, his tone full of tenderness, "Honey, haven’t finished yet?"

Vera was just exiting the dance troupe’s main building after reviewing all surveillance from the performance hall with two police officers.

Not long after hanging up, the Phantom stopped at the dance troupe gate, Ian Kane stepped out of the car to meet her and the two policemen.

The man was impeccably dressed, each step echoing the confident rhythm unique to those in power.

Vera approached, "Honey."

Ian Kane kindly glanced at her, took out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, and handed them to the two officers, "Thank you both for your hard work!"

The police, familiar with his status, politely accepted, "President Kane, it’s what we should do."

"Indeed."

Ian Kane, "The injured girl is a student of my wife—" looking at Vera, "only 20 years old. My wife suspects this stage accident was deliberate, quite malicious."

Although without explicitly saying it, Vera knew he hoped the police would take the investigation seriously.

He is an entrepreneur, a social celebrity, with status and identity.

Police, "President Kane, we will do our best to investigate thoroughly and quickly!"

Ian Kane shook hands with them, seeing them off to the police car, giving them due respect.

All for her, Vera took notice.

As the police car drove away, Ian Kane approached her, clasping her wrist, "Let’s go eat."

This afternoon she accompanied Evelyn Rivers through emergency treatment at the hospital, reported the incident and checked the surveillance, all without a sip of water.

"How did you know I haven’t eaten?"

Ian Kane turned his head, remained silent, conveying a look of "I know you, don’t I?"

Cold outside, warm inside, responsible for every student.

Vera’s heart warmed, following him forward.

"What about the student’s injury? Do I need to send an expert to consult?" He asked with concern.

Vera felt a stab, "Fractured tibia and fibula."

Just like she once had.

She worried Evelyn could be derailed from pursuing her career.

Evelyn’s career was just beginning.

If it weren’t for this accident, she would be the lead actress of the tour, shining with the light honed by years of rigorous training.

After getting in the car, Ian Kane comforted her, "I’ll contact an expert to take a look; everyone’s fate is their own. This isn’t your fault, don’t blame yourself."

Vera leaned against his shoulder, smelling the fresh mint scent, "Mm, thank you, Mr. Kane."

"I heard they plan to sideline you? Should I contact the arts association for you?"

Vera raised her head, "No need, work matters, I can fight for myself."

Ian Kane narrowed his eyes slightly, "Living a lavish life as Mrs. Kane at home, isn’t that better than suffering outside?"

"Mrs. Kane" exists as a dependency.

Her name is Vera Sheridan.

"Ballet is my lifelong career, I don’t see it as suffering."

Ian Kane didn’t persuade her further.

The car stopped at a restaurant that served crossing-the-bridge noodles.

Vera was pleasantly surprised.

Ian Kane knew how to cater to her tastes.

When feeling low and having no appetite, only a bowl of sour noodle soup could tempt her palate.

Vera contentedly swallowed the last mouthful of sour soup, put down the spoon, wiped the corner of her mouth.

Across from her, Ian Kane, his fingers leisurely unbuttoning his shirt collar, inadvertently, Vera noticed the inside of the clean white collar printed with a faint cherry-red stain.

Like a smudged lipstick mark.

Vera’s nerves tightened, her brow subtly knitting together faint lines.

Ian Kane, "What’s wrong?"

Vera blinked, "Your collar... it’s dirty."

Last time it was a strand of hair, this time it’s a lipstick mark...

Ian Kane glanced leisurely at the collar, his tone indifferent, "There was a social engagement at The Sovereign tonight."

Vera waited for more, but he eyed her, asking, "What?"

The man’s expression visibly darkened.

Vera got a bit scared, "Nothing, let’s go home."

Ian Kane said nothing, stood up and led the way, clearly sulking.

He didn’t speak a word along the way.

Vera felt as if she’d done something wrong.

At the bedroom door, she stopped him, "Are you mad at me?"

Ian Kane turned around, under the light, the lipstick mark on the collar looked so glaring.

"Why I’m angry, don’t you know?" The man tugged off his tie.

Vera took a deep breath, "I know, but one or two times, shouldn’t I ask?"

Ian Kane smirked bitterly, "Pictures of shoes, silhouettes, cufflinks, scents, watches, Veridia affairs—How many times? And the result?"

Vera was utterly shaken, rendered speechless by his confrontation.

The man’s expression slightly softened, "I’m tired, going to sleep."

Seemingly with a double meaning.

He’s exhausted by her sensitivity and suspicion.

Vera stared blankly at the closed door, lost for a long time before returning to her own room.

...

In the quiet of the night, Vera held her phone, tossing and turning.

Maeve Holloway went abroad for a mental health summit, the time difference meant she might still be sleeping and hadn’t replied to her messages.

In Jonah Langdon’s social circle, he posted a picture of tonight’s gathering at The Sovereign. Under the dim blue light, the private room mixed males and females, all aristocrats from Ardendale’s elite circles with their partners.

Vera immediately spotted Ian Kane at the center... along with... Nina.

The man, dressed in a suit, crossed his legs, with his long arm resting on the sofa back.

Nina sat beside him, close enough to lean on his arm, her smile radiant.

Vera gazed at the photo, forgetting how to breathe for a moment, as her temples throbbed intensely.