Virgin At 25-Chapter 91: INTERROGATED!!!

THIRD PERSON POV

Ace sat in the cold interrogation room, wrists cuffed to the metal table. Water dripped from his hair, tracing down his jawline. Across from him, a detective flipped through photos, grainy shots of the van, the warehouse, Sharon’s ID photo.

"You want to tell us how that van ended up parked right outside your apartment, Mr. Langley?"

Ace didn’t move. His stare fixed on the table, on nothing. Every sound felt distant; the hum of the air conditioner, the tick of the clock.

"I said," the detective leaned forward, "how does your vehicle tie to the missing girl?"

Ace finally looked up, his voice low, cold.

"Find her first. Then we’ll talk."

The detective slammed a palm on the desk, frustrated, but before he could speak again, the station door opened, an officer whispered something to him. His eyes darted toward Ace with unease. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t just a suspect anymore.

Somewhere else, dim light flickered. Sharon lay on the cold floor, her breath shallow, wrists bruised, lips dry. A faint hum of a generator filled the background. She could barely open her eyes. The air smelled of rust and gasoline.

Her head throbbed, but in the blur, one thought clawed its way through... Ace.

Her lips trembled, barely forming words.

"I’ll... come back to you," she whispered weakly, before her eyes fluttered shut again.

Back in the interrogation room, Ace’s fingers clenched into a fist, veins tightening under his skin. His heart beat hard, though he didn’t understand why, something deep inside him twisted, like a warning.

The detective stood to leave, but Ace spoke again, voice breaking the silence.

"Hang on, Sharon," he muttered, almost to himself.

---

The station smelled of metal, sweat, and silence. Victor Langley walked in, his shoes clicking sharply against the tiled floor. Heads turned, not just because he was who he was, but because of the kind of power that moved with him.

Behind the cell bars, Ace sat on a low bench, his hands resting on his knees, his head bowed just enough to hide his eyes. When Victor’s shadow fell over the corridor, Ace looked up. For a second, their gazes locked. Then Victor looked away first.

He went straight to the commissioner’s office.

"Sire Langley," the man greeted him, rising halfway.

Victor didn’t sit. "What can be done about my son?"

The commissioner hesitated, shifting the papers before him.

"Not much. The order didn’t come from me, it came from above."

Victor’s jaw tightened. "Above you?"

The commissioner’s eyes flickered toward the door, then back to Victor. "From the report... it started with your wife."

For a long second, Victor said nothing. His lips parted slightly, as if the words didn’t make sense. Then his voice dropped cold and low. "Camilla?"

The commissioner didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

When Victor turned, his face was stone.

He walked past the holding cells again, slower this time. Ace hadn’t moved. He looked almost too calm, his thumb tracing the edge of a cuff mark on his wrist.

Victor stopped before the bars. "Are you fine?"

Ace didn’t look at him. "Do you care?" he said softly, voice flat.

Something in Victor’s jaw twitched. He slammed his palm against the bars, metal ringing through the corridor, then turned and walked away without another word.

When he reached home, Camilla was standing by the window, her phone on the table. She turned when she heard the door.

"Victor..."

He shut the door behind him slowly, the sound echoing through the marble hall.

"Victor..." she started again, but her voice faltered when she saw his face.

"Why?" His tone was too calm to be safe. He took a few steps closer, each one measured. "Why would you go to the police?"

Camilla didn’t answer immediately. She crossed her arms, her chin lifting slightly, like she’d rehearsed this moment a hundred times.

"Because someone had to," she said quietly. "You’ve been covering for him for too long."

Victor’s eyes narrowed. "Him? That him is my son. My responsibility."

"Your mess," she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp. "Everything that happens in this house, in this city, comes back to you. And I’m the one who has to clean the blood off the floors."

He stepped closer again, voice dropping into a cold murmur. "You don’t know what you’ve done."

Camilla’s laugh was short, humorless. "Don’t I? Maybe I should’ve done it years ago. Maybe the mistake was letting her and that boy stay."

Victor’s expression changed just slightly, but enough to feel the shift in the air.

"Don’t... I asked that the van be sent to Aec’s apartment for a reason, I am not a fool" he warned.

"Exactly... I helped you fasten things up" Camila’s continued her voice loud

She looked him straight in the eye. "That’s where it all began, Victor. The day you let Ace and his mother into this house... was the day everything started to rot."

For a heartbeat, silence burned between them. Victor’s hands clenched at his sides.

Camilla turned away before he could speak again, her heels echoing against the floor as she walked toward the hallway.

"I won’t watch you destroy everything we built for them, I should have sent the boy away as I did his low-life mother" she said without looking back. "Not again."

The door closed softly behind her.

Victor stood there, jaw locked, breathing hard through his nose.

The station was dim that night. Most officers had clocked out, leaving only the low hum of an overhead fan and the faint buzz of old fluorescent lights.

Ace sat quietly on the iron bench inside his cell, hands folded, gaze locked on the cracked tile in front of him. His mind was blank or maybe too full to think.

Then footsteps echoed. Slow. Measured.

A man in a dark suit walked in, holding a slim briefcase and flashing a card at the front desk.

"Attorney Nolan Pierce," he said coolly. "Here for my client, Ace Langley."

Ace raised his head to look and saw Chris, they locked eyes for a moment and Chris nodded his head, a sign of reassurance...

The duty officer frowned. "We haven’t received approval for any legal visit tonight."

Chris adjusted his glasses and smiled faintly. "Then I suggest you call the commissioner and explain why you’re denying legal representation to the son of Victor Langley."

The officer blinked. The name carried enough weight to make him hesitate. After a short exchange of whispers with another officer, they finally nodded.

"Five minutes," the officer grunted, unlocking the passage.

Chris stepped through, every movement calculated, composed. He stopped beside the desk near Ace’s cell, placed his briefcase down, and turned toward the detective at the computer.

"I’ll need to show you something," Chris said, voice low.

From his pocket, he slid out a small flash drive.

The detective raised an eyebrow. "What’s that?"

"Evidence," Chris replied. "Proving my client’s innocence."

The detective hesitated, then took the drive. As he plugged it in, Chris glanced back just once toward the cell. His eyes met Ace’s.

Ace didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just sat there, gaze cold, quiet fire hidden beneath exhaustion.

The detective frowned at the screen as footage flickered to life.

Grainy CCTV recordings showed a van pulling into Ace’s compound that evening, the evening of the kidnap. Four men in masks stepped out, unloaded a crate, then disappeared. The timestamp was clean. The van had been planted.

The detective replayed it twice. His shoulders stiffened.

He turned toward Chris. "Where’d you get this?"

Chris smiled faintly. "You’ll find it hard to prove it’s fake. Chain of evidence from city street cameras, timestamped and verified."

Within minutes, calls were made. Doors opened. The tension shifted.

By the time Chris turned back toward Ace, the cell gate was already being unlocked.

"Ace Langley," the officer muttered, rubbing his temples. "You’re clear for now. But you’re still a minor suspect. You can’t leave the city until further notice."

Ace stood. Calm and silent. He didn’t even acknowledge them.

He picked up his watch and jacket from the evidence tray, slipped both on with steady precision, and walked out of the holding area.

Outside, the night air hit cold against his face.

Chris followed him out a few seconds later, loosening his tie.

"Boss," he said quietly, once they reached the street. "There’s a new update."

Ace stopped walking. He didn’t look at Chris, just said, in that low, steady tone,

"Talk."

Chris glanced over his shoulder before leaning closer.

"They moved Sharon again. And this time..." he paused, "...it seem’s it is not just your doing."