Chapter 57: A Glamorous Party

Yvette thought, He was hands-down the most distinguished guy in the room. Every woman there couldn't peel their eyes off him, but he didn't seem to notice. His dark gaze lazily scanned the scene with detached boredom.

Yvette remembered Summer's frantic search for Fraser the other day. Yvette thought, Had she found him?

“I need to make a call,” she told Tom.

“Hey, princess, now’s not the time, go mingle!”

Yvette slipped to a quiet corner and dialed Summer’s number. It rang. No answer. Then she remembered Summer’s work phone and tried that.

“Hey, Yvette, what’s up?” Summer’s soft, clear voice came through.

“Babe, why’s your phone dead?”

Summer glanced at her busted device, annoyed. “It’s toast. I was about to ask if I could crash at your place tonight.”

“Go for it, the housekeeper’s there. Oh, and didn’t you need Mr. Graham last time? If you haven’t found him, come to this party, he’s here!”

Summer choked at Fraser’s name, her mind flashing to the hickey fiasco and how she’d told Trevor her first time was with a kidnapper. Guilt gnawed at her. She coughed. “No, no need. I sorted it out with him. I’ll wait at your place after the party.”

Suddenly, a scream cut through the air nearby. Yvette looked over and saw Amelia Miller, her drama’s second lead, drenched in wine, courtesy of Fraser. Her mood lifted. “Wow, savage!”

She’d never liked Amelia. Yvette thought, A nobody actress with a rich family, shoved into the role by investors. Amelia had butchered the script, hogged screen time, and was a diva on set, demanding stand-ins, refusing scenes, and acting like a wooden plank. Working with Amelia was hell. And she constantly bragged about her “special connection” to Mr. Graham. Now, she’d been put in her place.

Summer caught the noise and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Fraser just splashed wine on Amelia, my drama’s second lead, Amelia. Her face looks like she swallowed a swarm of flies. I’m gonna check it out,” Yvette said.

The Miller family had struck it rich in tech three generations back and had ties to the Graham family. But their heirs had frittered away most of the fortune.

Fraser lounged on the sofa, bored, sipping his drink. He pulled out his phone and saw a photo sent from Xavier. The sight of a woman in a pristine white wedding dress hit him like a punch. His eyes iced over, anger radiating off him like a winter storm. He zoomed in, dark pupils locked on her image, confirming it was Summer.

Fraser thought, Summer. That liar. She’d called it a one-night stand. Said she was done with Trevor. So why was she in a wedding dress? Who was she marrying? Trevor?

Fraser clenched his jaw, exited the photo, and called her on WhatsApp. No answer. His lips tightened, brows knitting together. A surge of unease and rage flooded his chest. He tried her phone number. Still nothing. A cold laugh escaped him, but his eyes held no humor, just a brewing tempest. He gripped his phone and dialed Xavier.

“Where is she?” Fraser asked.

Xavier’s teasing voice crackled through. “Mr. Graham, who’re we talking about?”

Fraser’s tone dropped. “Xavier, do you want your hospital flattened?”

Xavier nearly swerved off the road. He’d only meant to rile Fraser up with the photo, not spark this level of fury.