Chapter 59
He tried to use Maddox to guilt-trip me, with that look of deep affection and grievance, making my stomach churn.
I stopped and finally looked him straight in the eye.
My gaze was cold, like I was looking at some irrelevant stranger, my voice devoid of any warmth. "Michael, the only reason I'm standing here today is out of respect for your grandfather. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even step foot through the doors of the Johnson Villa again."
I took a step forward, brushing past him, leaving only an icy warning by his ear.
"As for you," I paused, my lips curling into a deeply mocking smile, "you don't have that kind of pull."
With that, I ignored his instantly pale face and frozen body, and headed straight downstairs.
Those relatives were still in the living room. When they saw me come down, their expressions varied, but no one dared to speak.
I walked straight through the crowd, leaving behind all those jealous and resentful looks, along with Michael's burning, pained gaze, shutting them all out behind the heavy carved door.
The night wind hit my face, carrying winter's bleakness, but it cleared my head a bit.
I pulled out my phone to call a car.
The moment the screen lit up, a flood of missed calls and message notifications poured out, almost making my phone freeze.
All from Benjamin.
More than a dozen missed calls, plus seven or eight WeChat messages, starting from an hour ago.
[Is the meeting over?]
[Why aren't you replying?]
[Call back when you see this.]
[Did something happen?]
The last message was from five minutes ago, brief and to the point, yet radiating an urgency the screen could barely contain.
[Where are you?]
My heart jumped, a wave of indescribable emotions surging up, mixed with a trace of inexplicable guilt. I immediately called back.
The phone was answered almost instantly, but no voice came through—just very light, suppressed breathing.
"Benjamin?" I ventured.
"Mm." He finally responded, his voice lower and hoarser than usual. "Where are you?"
His tone sounded calm, but I keenly caught the tightly wound tension beneath that calm.
I gave him the address of the Johnson Villa.
"Stay put, I'll come get you." With that, he hung up decisively, giving me no chance to refuse.
I stood under the streetlight, looking at the brief call record on my phone screen, feeling a bit unsettled.
I'd never imagined that my brief silence would provoke such a strong reaction from him.
In just ten minutes, a familiar beam of headlights cut through the night, and that black Bentley pulled up in front of me with an almost fierce momentum.
The car door opened, and Benjamin stepped out from the driver's seat.
He was still wearing his daytime cashmere coat, but the collar was slightly open, his usually impeccably styled hair somewhat disheveled, and the air pressure around him unusually low.
He strode up to me and, without a word, reached out and gripped my wrist tightly.
His palm was burning hot, the force almost enough to crush my bones.
He looked me over from head to toe, and only after confirming I was unharmed did the violence churning in his tense eyes recede slightly.
"Get in." He pulled me along and tucked me into the warm passenger seat.
The car smoothly left that area that had irritated me, but inside was dead silence.
He drove in silence, his jawline taut, his profile appearing especially hard and cold in the flickering streetlights.
I could feel he was angry.
But this anger didn't seem directed at me.
"What's wrong?" I finally couldn't help asking, turning to look at him. "Did something happen at the company?"
I gave him the most reasonable excuse.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.
After a long while, he squeezed out a few words from his throat. "Nothing."
Those two words were utterly insincere.
Looking at him like this, the irritation caused by the Johnson family somehow dissipated, replaced by an emotion even I found unfamiliar and soft.
I suddenly felt that this man who was decisive and ruthless in business now seemed like a large dog that couldn't find its owner—anxious, uneasy, yet desperately suppressing it, unwilling to show the slightest vulnerability.
I sighed and reached out, gently placing my hand over his on the steering wheel.
The muscles in his hand instantly tensed, and the car body swayed almost imperceptibly.
"Benjamin," I softened my voice, my fingertips lightly tapping on the back of his hand, like soothing a bristling cat. "I came to the Johnson Villa today to visit Maddox. He's sick."
I briefly explained, then looked into his eyes, speaking slowly and deliberately, coaxing him. "I'm fine. My phone was on silent, I didn't see your messages. I'm sorry for worrying you."
He didn't speak, just listened in silence.
The car stopped at a red light, and he finally turned to look at me.
The streetlight shone through the window onto his face, casting dark, unclear shadows in his deep eyes.
"From now on, tell me in advance wherever you go." His voice was still low, but it had lost that earlier coldness that kept people at arm's length.
"Okay." I nodded obediently.
He looked at me, his expression complex, as if he wanted to say something more, but in the end just pressed his lips together and started the car again.
The atmosphere in the car, however, had quietly changed because of my yielding and reassurance.
That tense, suffocating silence was broken, replaced by a subtle, brewing intimacy.
The car finally stopped outside the White Villa.
I unbuckled my seatbelt but didn't get out immediately.
I turned to look at him. The streetlight outlined his hard profile but also softened the deep darkness in his eyes.
"It's late," I heard myself say, calmer than I'd expected. "Want to come up for a bit?"
As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized the intimacy implied in this invitation.
This villa was more like a battlefield to me. I'd never voluntarily invited anyone in.
Benjamin seemed a bit surprised too. He turned his head, his deep eyes quietly looking at me, as if trying to understand the deeper meaning in my words.
After a long moment, he gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Okay."
The living room was empty. Marlowe and Amelia were probably out at some party. Without their presence, the suffocating pretense and scheming in this house had dissipated, leaving only rare peace in the air.
I poured him a glass of water. He naturally sat down on the sofa, his long legs crossed, posture relaxed yet not at all awkward, as if he were the master here.