Zoe suddenly let out a defeated sigh. "Forget it. Believe what you want. I’ll be clear with you—I won’t be with you, and I won’t marry you. Give up on that idea."
She didn’t want to waste Preston’s time.
She knew he was a good catch—handsome, from a good family, and devoted. But trying to force a romance would only make them both miserable. They had known each other for so many years; she had never wanted things to turn so ugly.
Preston didn’t seem bothered by her harsh words. He took a steadying breath before replying, "Okay, don’t be upset. It’s already late. Let me take you home."
The whole world knew he had feelings for her. He just didn’t understand what he had to do to make her feel the same. Still, he had already committed to this path, and he fully intended to see it through until he got his way.
"Oh, dropping your girl off? Are you coming back for round two, Paxton?"
"Hahaha, what kind of bullshit question is that? Do you think Paxton is some kind of Sir Galahad?"
The surrounding rich kids burst into another round of teasing laughter. To Zoe, their voices were like ice picks driving into her ears.
She took a step back and handed the jacket back to Preston. Her usually radiant face was downright cold, drawing an absolute line in the sand. "Don’t follow me. I’m not in the mood to deal with you."
Ignoring Preston’s reaction, she turned on her heel and hurried to the curb to hail a cab.
Preston watched her go, neither angry nor annoyed. He knew her temper well. She had a sharp tongue but a soft heart—a personality practically designed to get the short end of the stick.
A buddy stepped up and slung an arm over Preston’s shoulder, unable to hold back his brutal honesty. "How long have you been chasing her? Six, seven years? Hell could have frozen over by now. You’ve got so many gorgeous women throwing themselves at you. Why are you so hung up on her?"
Preston jabbed his elbow into his friend’s chest, a dismissive edge to his voice. "Because I want to."
He stared at the disappearing taillights of her cab, muttering with absolute certainty, "As long as she doesn’t settle down, I’ll keep wearing her down. Besides me, she has no one else to rely on—"
Upon arriving home.
Zoe finally realized her keys were missing. She was a cautious person by nature and didn’t trust electronic locks. Since she stuck exclusively to traditional deadbolts, she was now completely locked out.
It was already eleven thirty at night. The locksmith companies had long since closed for the day.
Zoe let out a heavy sigh. It wasn’t hard to guess that she had left them in Simon’s car. Left with no other choice, she called Secretary Linden.
He picked up quickly. "How can I help you, Mrs. Hawthorne?"
Zoe kept it brief. "I think I dropped my keys in the car. Could you bring them to me?"
Linden could only play dumb. "Your keys... But I’ve already parked the car in Mr. Hawthorne’s garage, and I’m currently all the way over in Easton. Why don’t you give Mr. Hawthorne a call, Mrs. Hawthorne? I can send you his number."
Zoe had no choice but to agree. The number Secretary Linden texted her was the exact same one she had seen on Mercy’s phone the other day. Still, Zoe bit her finger, her heart pounding, completely unable to bring herself to make the call. A sudden wave of pride flared in her chest, unleashing a storm of uncontrollable emotions.
"I lost my keys, so I have to go to The Imperial Residence to find him?" she wondered. "Or ask him to deliver them?"
The former felt like a cheap, late-night ploy. As for the latter, she knew Simon’s time was worth its weight in gold. Who was she to demand it?
In the end, Zoe couldn’t bring herself to dial Simon’s number. She stared at her front door. She had topped up Heartbreaker’s food bowl that morning, so at least the dog wouldn’t starve tonight.
Zoe headed downstairs, deciding to make do with a hotel room for the night.
The winter nights in Kingsford were bone-chilling. Every breath of frigid air felt like needles piercing her lungs. She stood on the curb, trying to hail a car on her phone. Traffic was sparse in this area at this hour, and the app estimated a ten-minute wait.
Zoe pulled her coat tighter around herself. The streetlight overhead flickered erratically, its faulty wiring leaving it on the verge of burning out. She glanced up at it.
Suddenly, loud, boisterous shouting echoed from nearby, making her jump.
She spotted a drunk man staggering down the street. He was clutching a liquor bottle and cursing under his breath, likely having just wandered over from the bar district. Wary, she shuffled a few steps further down the curb. Perhaps due to a lack of security in her childhood, whenever she encountered people like this, she couldn’t help but assume the worst. Her entire body tensed, her defenses instantly flaring up.
Suddenly, the drunk man stopped right in front of her. He stared at Zoe with a bleary gaze, his filthy intentions entirely too obvious.
A wave of numbness washed over Zoe’s scalp, and her heart plummeted. Without a second thought, she turned to run.
Despite being heavily intoxicated, the man was surprisingly agile. He caught up to the high-heel-wearing Zoe in just a few strides, seized her by the collar, and slammed her roughly against a nearby wall. "What are you running for, pretty girl? Wanna have some fun? Let me show you my big toy, yeah?"
A rough, calloused palm clamped over Zoe’s mouth, cutting off her scream.
Her limbs trembled violently as a spike of adrenaline rushed through her, making her muscles lock up uncontrollably. Still, she thrashed like a madwoman, viciously kicking her high heels into the drunk’s shin. Catching him completely off guard, the sharp pain forced him to release his grip on her mouth. "Fuck... You crazy bitch!"
Finally able to breathe, Zoe opened her mouth and screamed in absolute terror, "Help! Get away from me!"
The struggle seemed to sober the man up slightly, but it also enraged him. He grabbed a handful of Zoe’s hair and shoved her violently down the alleyway, setting his bottle on the ground so he could undo his belt. "I’ll fucking kill you today!"
Zoe’s lungs burned with every ragged breath. The sheer disparity in physical strength made it impossible for her to break free. However, in the split second the drunk set down his bottle, she bent over and snatched it up.
Before she could strike, he tackled her to the concrete. Her tightly wrapped coat was instantly ripped open as his hideous face leaned in, desperate to touch hers. Zoe’s heart hammered in her ears. Gripping the liquor bottle by the neck, she smashed it viciously against the back of the man’s head. Because it was a thick, imported glass bottle, and she had swung it with every ounce of strength she possessed, the glass shattered on impact.
With an agonizing scream, the drunk collapsed to the ground.
Not daring to waste a single second, Zoe scrambled to her feet. Clutching her torn clothes to her chest, she stumbled frantically out of the alley.
At that exact moment, the car she had hailed pulled up to the curb. Seeing the state she was in, the driver hurriedly jumped out and called the police.
Every last drop of strength drained from Zoe’s body. Her legs gave out, sending her dropping to the pavement as tears finally poured down her face.
By the time Simon received the call from the police station, it was already ten minutes to one in the morning.
He had abruptly left a private party, taking nearly twenty minutes to rush over.
Stepping through the station doors, his eyes instantly landed on the woman curled up in the corner. Her dark, curly hair was a mess, and her delicate, oval face was deathly pale. Specks of blood still stained her camel-colored coat, and the hand clutching a paper cup of water trembled slightly—whether from the cold or pure terror, it was impossible to tell.
Simon’s eyes darkened. Striding forward on long legs, he stopped right in front of her.
"Zoe?"
The moment his voice rang out, she snapped out of her daze. In complete disregard of her surroundings, she leaped up and threw her arms around him, burying her face into his chest.
"I..." she sobbed, her voice weak and choked with tears. "I think I hurt him really badly... What do I do?"
Simon pursed his lips. From the corner of his eye, he cast a brief glance at the police officers nearby. After a fleeting moment of hesitation, he gently wrapped an arm around the woman’s waist. His expression was so cold it bordered on cruel.
"What are you crying for? If he dies, it’s what he deserves."