Chapter 4

I knew who he was. It was Lincoln Gardner, Hugo's arch-nemesis and the Moore family's most significant business partner in recent years.

The rain kept pouring, drenching me completely and leaving me shivering from the cold.

Still, I could feel a blaze raging inside me.

"Mr. Gardner," I heard myself say, my voice steady, "could you give me a ride?"

Lincoln studied me for a moment before opening the car door.

"Get in," he said.

The heater inside the car was cranked up, making it feel like a whole different world compared to the storm raging outside.

I huddled in the passenger seat, my drenched nightgown plastered to my skin, icy and uncomfortable. Blood from the cut on my foot kept seeping out, spreading dark red stains across the pricey leather floor mats.

"Sorry," I whispered, "for messing up your car."

Lincoln didn't say anything. He grabbed a clean blanket from the back seat and handed it to me, then pulled out a first-aid kit. "Let's take care of that wound first."

I wrapped the blanket around myself but left the first-aid kit untouched. The pain kept me awake. I needed that feeling to stay grounded.

The car cruised smoothly through the stormy night, the city outside melting into a haze of neon colors. After twenty-five years here, it suddenly felt like a place I'd never known.

"Where to?" Lincoln asked, his tone steady—no curiosity, no sympathy, just as casually as if he were asking about the weather.

I paused, caught off guard.

Where did I even go?

I couldn't go back to Hugo's villa. It was never my home—just a gilded cage I'd been locked in for three years.

As for the Moore family, if my father, who cared only about profit, found out I'd run away the night before the wedding, he'd probably be the first to haul me back and deliver me to Hugo to make amends.

For seven years, for Hugo's sake, I'd isolated myself from nearly everyone. Friends drifted away, colleagues kept their distance, and everything I did was for him. Now, I couldn't even think of a single place I could go.

"A hotel," I heard myself say. "Any hotel will do."

Lincoln shot me a look in the rearview mirror. "You planning to check into a hotel like that?"

I glanced down at myself—soaked silk nightgown, bare feet still bleeding, hair stuck messily to my face. If I walked into a hotel looking like this, they'd probably call the cops thinking I was some kind of crazy person.

"I have an apartment downtown," Lincoln said, flicking on the turn signal and steering onto a different street. "It's usually empty. You can stay there for now."

"No, that's really not necessary," I replied almost instinctively. "I don't want to trouble you."

"It's no trouble," Lincoln answered, his tone calm. "The place is only five minutes from here, and I don't like owing favors."

I turned to look at him.

Lincoln's profile was all hard lines and angles, nothing like Hugo's refined handsomeness. He had a kind of blade-like sharpness to him.

In the business world, people whispered that he was ruthless, cold as ice, and utterly unsentimental—a rival even Hugo had to respect.

"So I owe you a favor?" I asked.

"Last time, Mr. Moore gave up three points on that Southville deal," Lincoln said simply. "I remember."

So that was how it worked. In business, every little bit mattered.

"Thank you, Mr. Gardner. I'll take you up on your offer," I said, no longer refusing.

Five minutes later, the car rolled into the underground garage of a luxury apartment building. Lincoln got out, opened the trunk, and placed a pair of men's slippers by my feet.

"They're new. Never been worn," he said.

I thanked him and slipped them on. They were way too big, flopping with every step—like I was a little kid playing dress-up in her dad's shoes.

The apartment was on the top floor, offering a stunning view of the city. Lincoln unlocked the door with his fingerprint and motioned for me to step inside.

"Guest room's on the left. There are fresh towels and a bathrobe in the bathroom. The fridge might have some food, but it's probably expired," Lincoln said, standing in the doorway without any intention of coming in.

He added, "The door code is six eights. You can change it if you want. I'm heading out."

"Mr. Gardner," I called out, stopping him just as he was about to leave.

He turned around.

"About tonight..." I hesitated, then asked, "Could you keep it quiet for now?"

Lincoln looked at me, those deep eyes giving nothing away. "I don't care about other people's drama," he said flatly.

With that, he turned and walked off, his footsteps echoing down the empty hallway until they faded away.

As soon as the door closed behind Lincoln, I slid down to the floor, my back pressed against the cool wood.

Finally, it was just me. Alone.

The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the central air. I sat there, staring out at the city lights through the window, feeling utterly exhausted—so tired I couldn't even muster the energy to cry.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and powered it on.

There were dozens of missed calls—all from Hugo. And just as many messages, starting with questions, then orders, and finally angry threats.

Hugo's message flashed on the screen. [Elodie, answer your phone!]

[Come back right now, and I'll act like tonight never happened. Don't make me call your dad.]