Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Harvey’s car pulled away, leaving the three figures behind without so much as a ripple.
To them, Stella and Harvey’s departure seemed like nothing more than a passing detail, hardly worth a glance.
Only when their silhouettes disappeared from the rearview mirror did Harvey finally slow the car to a stop. He turned, glaring at Stella through his glasses with a mix of exasperation and heartache.
“Really, Stella? Crying over a man? Where’s your backbone?” he asked. “If you’re that desperate, I know plenty of good men abroad-handsome, successful, and well-endowed. Take your pick.”
“Harvey!” Stella’s tears stopped midstream, her cheeks warming as she shot him a reproachful look.
She hadn’t wanted to cry. But emotions weren’t something one could leash. Years of living like a caged bird had worn her spirit thin. She simply didn’t have the strength to keep her composure every
time.
Still, maybe crying wasn’t such a bad thing. Better to let it all out in a flood than keep choking on the knots in her chest.
And indeed, once the tears had passed, the suffocating weight on her heart felt a little lighter.
Harvey’s tone softened. He reached over to wipe her cheeks, his smile faint but his eyes devoid of warmth. “Alright, that was my bad. Think you can get home on your own?”
“I’m fine. Are you heading to the company?” Stella asked. She already knew he’d officially taken up the post of vice president at Spencer Group yesterday.
“Yeah. Straight to the office,” Harvey said with a bitter little laugh. “Dad is unbelievable. He keeps dumping everything on me. The workload’s insane.”
Stella pressed his shoulder lightly, smiling up at him. “That’s because you’re the most capable. You can handle it.”
They chatted a little more before she opened the door, stepping out to watch him drive away.
What she didn’t know was that her uncle, Marvin, hadn’t actually given Harvey a mountain of tasks.
On the contrary, Marvin had deliberately kept Harvey’s plate clear, hoping Harvey would spend more time with her, maybe even take her out to relax a little.
The breeze stirred the loose strands at her temples. Stella exhaled slowly, stood still a moment to steady herself, then started walking.
She didn’t head for the Lloyd Manor, nor her own apartment. Instead, her feet wandered of their own accord, carrying her through the streets.
The brush of wind on her face, the jumble of voices from nearby shops and alleys… little by little, the raw wound inside her heart felt soothed.
“Stop right there!”
Just then, the harsh bark behind her froze the blood in her veins. Stella’s body went rigid.
A mugger? An assassin? Some lowlife thug? Her first thought was all too familiar. She’d had her share of run-ins like this bac
when Ernest was still around.
Fear pricked at her nerves, but she held her voice steady. “What do you want?”
1/3
Needs. She knew that was always the first thing people like this cared about.
But the man’s voice, low and gravelly behind a mask, wasn’t what she expected. “Don’t move. Come with me.”
As he stepped closer, a faint smell of blood mingled with woody incense hit her nose. The smell wasn’t unbearable, but it wasn’t pleasant either.
Stella wrinkled her nose. Under his tug, she let herself be led toward the narrow gap between two tall buildings. “Where are you taking me?”
“Keep your mouth shut,” the man, Simon Wood replied. His voice was colder now.
Stella fell silent. Only when the alley fell empty did his grip suddenly slacken, and he collapsed in a heap at her feet.
Stella widened her eyes as she stared at the man on the ground. Should she run? Her instinct screamed yes.
But before she could, a bloodied hand latched onto her pants leg, leaving a crimson smear. His voice came hoarse and desperate. “Stop… the bleeding.” ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ.net
Simon knew he was losing too much blood. If it didn’t stop soon, he wouldn’t last until his contact arrived.
“I don’t have equipments,” Stella said truthfully. No gauze, no kit-nothing.
“Then figure something out!” Simon’s eyes, the only thing visible above his mask, flashed with frustration.
He wanted to curse. Of all people, why did he have to drag in someone so utterly clueless?
But when he finally looked up, really seeing her face for the first time, he froze.
“It’s you?!” His voice cracked with disbelief.
“What?” Stella frowned, startled. “You know me?”
“… No.” Simon paused, then covered with a growl, brandishing his trembling knife. “But if you don’t patch me up, my knife is going to have a little face-to-face with you.”
“Oh please,” Stella rolled her eyes. “At least hold that knife steady.”
Simon’s lips twitched. “Just… shut up,” he hissed, breath hitching. “Help me. Now.”
“Fine, fine.” Stella crouched beside him, muttering under her breath as she looked for something to use. Out of pity, or maybe curiosity, she decided to help.
Her gaze landed on his shirt. Without hesitation, she yanked at the fabric. The tug pulled at his wound, and he doubled over in pain.
“You-what the hell are you doing?” he screamed.
“Obviously,” Stella said with an apologetic grin, “tearing your shirt to make a bandage.”
“Why can’t you use your own clothes?” Simon rasped.
“Why should I?” Stella shot back, entirely unashamed.
Simon stared at her, speechless. In the end, he stripped off his shirt himself and shoved it at her.
2/3
Stella wrapped the makeshift bandage around his wound, tying it tight.
“Alright, there. You’re not bleeding out anymore.” Stella stood, dusted off her hands. “I’ll leave you to it. No need to see me
off.
Her tone was so breezy it nearly made Simon choke.
By the time his contact finally arrived, Simon was seething, a storm of curses on his tongue.
And since someone had to take the fall for his fury, he let it all loose on Michael Crawford.
He was taken to a well-equipped van. As medical staff worked on his injuries, one of his contacts handed him the phone. “… Uh, Simon, Mr. Crawford’s on the line.”
Simon snatched the phone. His voice was sharp, full of fire. “What now?”
On the other end, Michael chuckled lazily. “Well, well. Who set you off this time?”
He knew Simon well. With his temper, anyone who crossed him usually didn’t live to tell the tale. He was curious who got under Simon’s skin enough to make him this mad.
Simon’s jaw clenched. The image of Stella’s face flickered in his mind. He ground his teeth but said nothing. “Nobody. You’ve got business, spit it out. If not, I’m hanging up.”
“No business,” Michael drawled. “Just checking in. But since you’re clearly alive and kicking, I’ll let you get back to sulking”
“Mom, don’t hang up…” Meanwhile, Irene was on the phone with Stella. Her soft voice on the phone carried a faint whine.
“What’s wrong, Irene?” Stella asked evenly.
After patching up the stranger, she’d thought about visiting Grandpa.
But the bloodstains on her pants had made her hesitate. She didn’t want anyone worrying. So she’d gone back to her apartment to clean up instead.
Freshly showered, her clothes changed, she barely had time to rest before Irene called.
Now, Irene sounded clingier than usual, refusing to let go of the line.
“I just want to talk to you a little longer,” Irene mumbled.
Stella’s lips curved in a wry smile. Children-such natural-born liars, she thought.
3/3
AD
Comment
Send gift
No Ads