Chapter 81
Chapter 81
"Mind your own damn business." The words scraped out through clenched teeth, the oppressive atmosphere in the car thick enough to freeze the air itself. "Just drive."
Justin's neck pulled back like a turtle's. He didn't have the guts to say anything else.
The day Jessica received her first paycheck from Autumnleaf District Precinct, the very first thing she did was move out of Philip's apartment.
Philip couldn't change her mind. He could only help her look for a place near the precinct. In the end, they found an older building with good security.
The apartment wasn't large—a one-bedroom with a living area—but the south-facing windows flooded the space with beautiful natural light. Jessica carefully arranged her meager belongings, and as she surveyed this small space she'd filled with her own hands, a long-absent sense of security finally settled in her chest.
Time slipped by. Months passed in a blink.
Winter took over autumn, and Jessica's life fell into a perfect rhythm.
The pace at Autumnleaf District Precinct was brisk, certainly, but nothing like the around-the-clock chaos of City Police Department's Major Crimes Unit.
Her skills as a professional were very good, and her humble, low-key personality quickly earned her respect in her new job.
Michael became like a figure erased from her world with a rubber—completely, thoroughly gone.
No calls. No messages. Even the scattered news about him that used to filter through Evelyn gradually disappeared as time marched forward.
He was completely gone from her life.
Occasionally, while organizing old case files or working late into solitary nights, Jessica would drift into hazy recollection of those days living under the same roof at the estate. She'd remember his ice-blue eyes, the crisp cedar scent that clung to him, and that out-of-control kiss that had tasted of punishment.
Those pictures felt like they were from a long time ago.
Sometimes she wondered if it had all been nothing more than an absurd dream.
Dreams ended. Reality beckoned.
The first winter snow arrived without warning.
Jessica merged her secondhand sedan into the snarl of evening rush hour traffic.
The heater hummed pleasantly. Soft instrumental music drifted from the radio.
These past months, she'd finally adjusted to Autumnleaf's rhythm, grown comfortable with this calm, predictable existence.
She believed those heart-stopping days, along with the name Michael Sullivan, had been buried deep in memory's unmarked grave.
She slowed down and stopped at a red light.
The car had barely settled when a dull thud exploded from behind, accompanied by violent shaking that threw her forward against the seatbelt.
Jessica frowned, unbuckled, and pushed open her door.
Frigid wind laced with snow pellets struck her face, shocking her into sharper awareness. She circled to the rear bumper and found a small dent, some paint scraped away—nothing catastrophic.
She raised her head toward the vehicle responsible—a black Bentley. Understated luxury. And that license plate, achingly familiar, now reappearing before her eyes like a ghost.
How could it be him?
The driver's door swung open. A long leg emerged first, encased in tailored suit trousers, custom leather shoes crunching into the thin layer of snow.
Then the man she'd believed she'd never see again materialized without warning, standing before her once more.
Michael looked leaner. His jawline had sharpened to a blade's edge. Those ice-blue eyes, dim beneath the streetlamp's glow, had darkened into bottomless frozen pools—fixed on her without blinking.
Months apart, and his presence had only grown more suffocating.
Run.
The single thought screamed through her mind.
She jerked her gaze away, unable to meet his eyes. Her voice came out strained, fluttering with nerves, though she forced bureaucratic detachment into her tone: "Just a minor scrape. Nothing serious. No need for compensation."
Without waiting for his response, she turned and reached for her car door handle. She'd absorb the damage herself—anything to escape this man's orbit immediately.
"Stop."
Jessica's body locked in place. Stubbornly, she refused to turn around.
Michael closed the distance in several strides, positioning himself directly behind her. His towering frame engulfed her completely.
That familiar scent—clean, sharp cedar mixed with winter's bite—invaded her senses with tyrannical insistence, scrambling her composure into chaos.
"That desperate to avoid me?" His voice dropped low, words grazing her ear, threaded with suppressed fury and a barely detectable edge of self-mockery.
Something slammed into Jessica's chest—sour, bitter, aching.
She dragged in a deep breath, forcing herself toward calm, and fled back to the driver's seat with maximum speed. Her fingers trembled as they fumbled for the keys.
She just needed to start the engine, to escape this suffocating atmosphere.
But the instant before she could close the door, a long-fingered hand shot out and clamped onto the door's edge. The force behind it made resistance impossible.
The door wouldn't close.
She was trapped in this confined space.
Jessica lifted her head. Through the half-open window, her eyes collided with Michael's.
"Running from me?" He bent down, bringing their gazes level. Each word seemed squeezed through clenched teeth, carrying bone-deep cold.
That stare cut like a scalpel, sharp enough to strip away every layer of her pretense.
Jessica's heartbeat scattered into disorder. She wrenched her gaze away in a mess of panic, lips working soundlessly before finally recovering her voice: "Chief Sullivan, you're reading too much into this. I simply don't see the point in wasting each other's time over something so minor."