?<strong>Chapter 239:</strong>


    On the bright side, he hadn’t heard any loud music on her end just now.


    She must have left the bar already.


    But if she wasn’t heading home yet, where on earth was she nning to spend the night?


    Lucas’ eyes narrowed with suspicion.


    He grabbed his phone again and dialed Johnson’s number this time.


    “Hello?” Johnson answered, sounding rather confused by Lucas’ call at this hour.


    “Where are you, Johnson?” Lucas asked bluntly.


    “At home,” Johnson replied.


    “Where is Belinda?” Lucas pressed further.


    Johnson’s brows furrowed slightly. “You’re looking for Belinda? Why are you calling me instead of her?”


    “Answer me!” Lucas barked, ignoring his questions.


    Johnson pressed his lips together for a moment and was about to speak when a suggestive, decidedly female moan sounded beside him.


    The sound reached the other end of the line as well.


    When Lucas heard that from Johnson’s end, his expression changed abruptly. “Whose voice is that?” he asked sharply.


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    “Um… Oh, well… You must have imagined that.” Johnson cleared his throat, his voice carrying an unmistakable edge of unease.


    After a brief pause, he added quickly, “Belinda isn’t here with me. Anyway, my phone’s about to die, so I’ll hang up now.”


    Not giving Lucas a chance to respond, he ended the call abruptly and turned his phone off, his movements quick and decisive.


    He cast a sideways nce toward the television.


    The voice Lucas had heard had actuallye from the TV, but Johnson had deliberately avoided rifying it, curious to gauge Lucas’ reaction.


    Deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucas cared about Belinda.


    He had sensed it in Lucas’ words and seen it in his actions before.


    What puzzled him was why Lucas was suddenly behaving this way now.


    It didn’t add up.


    Setting his phone on the bedside table to charge, Johnson shook off the thought and headed to the bathroom.


    After a refreshing shower, he toweled off his hair, feeling a twinge of hunger creeping in.


    Deciding to make a quick meal for himself, he ventured downstairs to the kitchen.


    As the water boiled and he prepared to make some spaghetti, an urgent and relentless ringing of the doorbell echoed through the house.


    Startled, Johnson turned off the stove and made his way to the door, already suspecting who might be on the other side.


    With a quick flick of the lock, he opened the door, but before he could utter a word, a fist hurtled toward him.


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