Chapter 2 The Accusation

The interrogation room was a profound contrast to the luxurious hotel suite Edwin had woken up in just hours ago. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an unflattering pallor over his already haggard appearance. The metal chair he sat in was cold and uncomfortable, a far cry from the plush furniture he was accustomed to. Detective Reyes sat across from him, her dark eyes boring into Edwin with an intensity that made him want to squirm. But years of acting had taught him how to maintain composure, even when every instinct screamed at him to flee. "Mr. Kasper," Detective Reyes began, her voice clipped and professional, "I'm going to ask you one more time. What happened in that hotel room?" Edwin ran a hand through his disheveled dark hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. His emerald eyes, usually sparkling with charm for the cameras, were now dull with exhaustion and fear. At just 30 years old, the stress of the situation had etched deep wrinkles into his face, making him look decades older. He looked nothing like the youthful A-list actor who had graced so many movie posters. "I've told you everything I know," he said, hating how his voice cracked slightly. "Which isn't much. I was at the charity gala, I had too much to drink, and then... nothing. I woke up in that room with no memory of how I got there or who that woman was." The detective's lips thinned. "That's awfully convenient, don't you think? A famous actor, an injured woman, and a sudden case of amnesia?" "You think I wanted this?" Edwin snapped, his composure finally cracking. "You think I enjoy sitting here, accused of something I can't even remember? My entire life is falling apart, and I don't even know why!" Detective Reyes leaned back, her expression unreadable. "Mr. Kasper, we have a woman in the hospital with severe injuries. She's identified you as her attacker. We have physical evidence linking you to the scene. Your convenient memory loss doesn't change these facts." Edwin felt the walls closing in around him. He needed help, needed someone in his corner. Normally, this would be when Kimberly swooped in, all sass and fierce loyalty, ready to move heaven and earth to protect his best friend. But Kimberly, as Kenneth loved to be referred to, wasn't here. The thought hit Edwin like a physical blow, adding to the overwhelming sense of isolation. "My friend," Edwin said suddenly, grasping at straws. "Kim- Kenneth White. He's my personal assistant. I need to talk to him." A flicker of something – was it pity? – crossed Detective Reyes's face. "Mr. White is currently in the hospital. He was admitted early this morning for an emergency appendectomy." The news hit Edwin like a punch to the gut. Kimberly, his rock, his constant support, was out of reach when he needed him most. He felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes and blinked them back furiously. "Can I at least call my manager?" Edwin asked, hating how small his voice sounded. Before Detective Reyes could respond, the door burst open. A man in an impeccably tailored suit strode in, radiating authority. "This interview is over," he announced. "My client won't be answering any more questions without me present." "Marcus," Edwin breathed, relief washing over him at the sight of his manager. Detective Reyes straightened, clearly annoyed. "And you are?" "Marcus Goldstein, Mr. Kasper's manager and legal representative," he replied smoothly. "I'm here to post bail and take my client home." "This is highly irregular—" the detective began, but Marcus cut her off. "What's irregular is holding my client for hours without proper representation. We're leaving now. You can direct any further questions to our legal team." As Marcus ushered Edwin out of the police station, the actor blinked against the harsh glare of camera flashes. A sea of reporters had gathered, shouting questions and thrusting microphones towards him. "Edwin! Did you assault that woman?" "Is this the end of your career?" "What does Laura think about these allegations?" The mention of his fiancée's name sent a jolt of panic through Edwin. Laura. In the chaos of the past few hours, he hadn't even thought about how this would affect her. Marcus guided Edwin through the crowd, muttering under his breath, "Don't say a word. We need to get you out of here now." They had almost reached Marcus's waiting car when Edwin collided with something solid. Or rather, someone. "Whoa there, easy," a deep voice said, strong hands steadying Edwin. Edwin looked up, momentarily stunned. The man before him was tall, muscular, with piercing gray eyes and golden hair that seemed to catch the sunlight. It took Edwin a moment to place him: Lance Castellan, star quarterback and one of the most recognizable faces in professional sports. Lance's eyes widened in recognition. "You're Edwin Kasper," he said, then glanced at the frenzied media circus. Understanding dawned on his face. "You look like you could use an assist." Before Edwin could respond, Lance had maneuvered himself between the actor and the press, using his considerable bulk as a shield. "This way," he said, guiding Edwin towards a sleek sports car parked nearby. Marcus started to protest, but Edwin, running on instinct and desperation, made a split-second decision. "I'll call you later," he told his manager, then slid into Lance's car. As they peeled away from the curb, leaving the shouting reporters in their wake, Edwin let out a shaky breath. "Thank you," he said, slumping in the leather seat. "I don't know why you did that, but... thank you." Lance flashed him a grin, all perfect teeth and easy charm. "Let's just say I know a thing or two about media frenzies. Where can I take you?" Edwin opened his mouth, then closed it again. He couldn't go home – the press would be swarming his place by now. He couldn't go to any friends or family without dragging them into this mess. And Kimberly, his usual safe harbor, was unreachable. The thought of his best friend lying in a hospital bed while Edwin's world imploded around him brought a fresh wave of despair. Kimberly would know what to do. He always knew how to handle Edwin's crises, big and small. But for the first time since they'd become friends, Edwin was truly on his own. Seeing his hesitation, Lance's expression softened. "Tell you what. I've got a place up the coast. Private, secluded. Why don't we head there and you can figure out your next move?" Edwin knew he should refuse. He barely knew this man. But the events of the past 24 hours had left him reeling, desperate for any port in the storm. "Okay," he said quietly. "That would be... thank you." As Lance navigated the car onto the highway, Edwin stared out the window, watching the city recede behind them. His phone buzzed incessantly in his pocket – no doubt a barrage of missed calls and messages from his agent, his publicist, Laura, and... his father. But he couldn't bring himself to look. Not yet. Instead, he found himself studying Lance's profile as the quarterback focused on the road. Strong jaw, straight nose, those intense gray eyes focused ahead. Why was this virtual stranger helping him? What did he stand to gain? But as the adrenaline of the escape began to fade, exhaustion hit Edwin like a tidal wave. His eyelids grew heavy, and despite his best efforts to stay alert, he felt himself drifting off. His last coherent thought before sleep claimed him was a silent apology to Kimberly. I'm sorry I'm not there for you, my friend. And I'm sorry you can't be here for me. As Edwin slipped into an uneasy slumber, Lance glanced over at his unexpected passenger. The usually polished actor looked vulnerable in sleep, his forehead creased with worry even in unconsciousness. Lance tightened his grip on the steering wheel, series of emotions swirling in his chest. Compassion for a fellow celebrity in crisis. Curiosity about what had really happened. And something else, something he wasn't quite ready to examine too closely. Whatever came next, Lance had a feeling both their lives were about to change in ways neither of them could have anticipated.