CHAPTER_DETAIL_H1

After this crushing defeat, Grace would absolutely never dare to plot against her again.

She was just considering whether to call another cab when her phone buzzed. It was Logan Quinn.

"Ma'am, my car is parked about three hundred feet from the station's entrance, right by a large oak tree."

Winona let out a sigh of relief. She stepped out of the station, walked toward the designated tree, and sure enough, spotted the car with the string of ones on its license plate.

She pulled open the rear door, freezing the moment she saw the man sitting inside.

Wasn't Zachary supposed to be working from home? Why was he here?

Her hesitation lasted only a second before she slid into the seat.

Logan stepped on the gas. "Ma'am, I saw the news online. I was worried someone might try to target you, so I'll be dropping you off at work from now on. I can pick you up on the way back, too."

Winona had no intention of gambling with her life. Until the public outrage died down, this was undeniably the safest option.

"Alright. Thank you."

The moment the words left her mouth, the sound of Zachary typing on his keyboard filled the quiet car. His gaze was locked on his laptop screen.

He was wearing a stark black suit. Ever since Winona had known him, he always wore black. In his younger years, he occasionally wore white dress shirts, but aside from that, he never touched another color.

She had bought him plenty of vibrant ties over the years. It was the only way she could add a splash of life to his otherwise brooding wardrobe.

Sitting beside him, Winona had absolutely no idea what to say, so she simply leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

Then she heard him ask, "Does the wound still hurt?"

Her eyelashes fluttered slightly, but she kept her eyes shut. "I had it treated. It's fine."

The car fell silent for a few seconds. His typing paused as he seemed to carefully choose his next words. "You were far too reckless this time."

The moment he said it, Winona shattered the quiet with a sharp scoff.

She didn't bother arguing. She just let out that single, dismissive sound and pretended to fall asleep.

His words were all too familiar. He always said things like, "You're too stubborn, too reckless, you always act on impulse."

Sure, who could match Zachary Shaw's rational restraint? A restraint so absolute it verged on pure apathy.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVERIFY