He withdrew his gaze, automatically ignoring everything else. "If you show up tomorrow, it probably won't happen again." He said it like a joke, smiling. "Otherwise, you'll be on my radar."
The light was too far away, too dim to reveal the momentary bob of Zane Jennings's Adam's apple, or the faint blush on the tips of Erin Lowell's ears.
Erin Lowell seemed to agree with his words. She didn't argue, but simply stepped back a bit and tugged at her wrist. "What time tomorrow?"
Zane Jennings froze for a second before letting go of her hand. He pulled a somewhat crumpled ticket from his pocket and glanced at it. "Eleven-thirty in the morning." He put the ticket back in his pocket, a little carefully. "I'll come pick you up."
"No need. I can get there myself."
'He's probably afraid I won't go,' she thought. 'This is Brindleton. If I just found a place to hide, he'd have a hard time finding me even if he turned the city upside down.'
But he was her savior, after all, so Erin Lowell had no intention of skipping out.
His goal achieved, he didn't push it. "I'll be waiting for you tomorrow, then," he said.
Erin Lowell clutched the ticket in her hand and grunted in agreement. "Can you open the car door now?" It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to leave earlier; it was that the door wouldn't open. It was obviously locked.
"What door?" Zane Jennings stared blankly for a few seconds. Seeing that she wasn't explaining, it took him a moment to realize. "The door is locked?"
She looked at him, her gaze scrutinizing, and said nothing.
Zane Jennings reached for the door next to him and found it wouldn't open either. "..." He gave a small laugh, his confidence wavering slightly. "I didn't lock it."
Erin Lowell wasn't in the mood for jokes. "Then I suppose I locked it!"
He glanced outside the car but couldn't see the driver anywhere. Getting flustered, he insisted, "I really didn't lock it."
"Oh, so you didn't lock it." She didn't argue the point. "Then can you open the door now?"
Zane Jennings knew she didn't believe him. The whole situation looked like he was using his status as her savior to take advantage of her.
Explaining now would be pointless. So, he gave up and raised his hand to knock on the window for the driver. But he couldn't help himself, offering an indirect explanation anyway. "The driver probably locked it because he thought it was unsafe at night."
"Oh," Erin Lowell said, quite good at getting under his skin. "The driver locked it."
Zane Jennings was about to relax when he heard her add, "You must have paid him to do it."
Her voice was soft and gentle, but her words hit the mark, leaving him unable to retort.
"..."
He leaned in closer to explain, perhaps truly flustered now, the words tumbling out before he could think. "I really didn't pay him to lock the door."
He was so close that Erin Lowell only had to glance up to see the break in his left eyebrow, which made him look a bit like a street thug. She turned her face away, her expression carefully neutral. "Just stop explaining. You're only making it worse."
The driver walked over, took one look at Zane Jennings's ashen face, and unlocked the car.
She pushed the door open and got out.
The September night wind was viciously cold. A chill cut through the sound of the breeze, seeping into it, and wormed its way into her collar the moment she stepped out of the car.
Erin Lowell wrapped her coat tighter around herself. She didn't say goodbye, nor did she look back.
'To be honest, I don't really like people like him,' she thought. 'They're just like the Sullivans—two-faced.'
The night was deep. Wind blew from the left, rustling the leaves. It tousled her hair, but couldn't disturb the lonely shadow she cast on the ground.
The hotel Erin Lowell was staying at was one of Ian Sheffield's investments. Security was tight. The hotel had specifically kept a room off the market, reserving it exclusively for her. It was on the twelfth floor—not too high, not too low—offering a perfect, sweeping view of Brindleton's nightscape.
Getting off the elevator, Erin Lowell saw someone crouching by her door and froze. "Ian Sheffield, what are you doing here?"
The man was crouched at her doorway, head down, hands resting on his knees. The collar of his normally impeccable suit was disheveled. The light that fell on him seemed terribly dim.
Erin Lowell walked over and called his name again. "Ian Sheffield."
Hearing her voice, the man on the floor looked up. The exhaustion on his face was heavy, and a closer look revealed hidden, bloodshot veins in his eyes. "Where did you go?"
He had an unforgettable face. His features were clean but strong, and his eyes were always cold when looking at strangers. He carried himself with a gentle, refined air, like a scholar-prince from ancient times who also wielded military power—a man whose true depths were impossible to fathom.
"I ran into a bit of trouble." Erin Lowell didn't elaborate, simply staring in a daze at the man who was supposed to be in North Kaelen. "How are you here?"
Ian Sheffield didn't answer. To him, none of that mattered. He stood up, restraining the urge to get closer to her, his voice heavy. "Is your phone just for decoration? Why didn't you answer my calls? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be alone in Brindleton? Do you have any idea—"
Erin Lowell pulled her phone from her coat pocket, glanced at it, and said flatly, "It's dead."
Seeing her safe and sound, the heart that had been in Ian Sheffield's throat all day finally settled back into his chest. He had secretly come to Brindleton on a "business trip" the same day she arrived. After missing her call that day, he had been too wracked with guilt to show himself, even though he knew she probably didn't care.
He'd bought a ticket for the same flight as her, planning to get out early and wait for her, but he was shocked to find she never boarded. Then he got news that she'd been taken away by the police. By the time he rushed over, she was already gone.
He only learned from the police that she had been picked up by some man. He'd spent the entire day searching, nearly turning Brindleton upside down. He'd lost all reason; if not for the distance, he might have charged all the way back to the Sullivan Family's doorstep.
Ian Sheffield's relief outweighed his anger. Seeing that she was all right, he could only suppress the panic and fury churning inside him. His voice softened. "Okay. You should go inside and rest. Don't worry about the police station. I'll take care of it."
Erin Lowell nodded, then asked, "Weren't you in North Kaelen?"
'It's not surprising he can handle the police; he's incredibly powerful. And as for the Sullivans... without him, the grass on my grave would be several feet high by now. The only reason I'm still alive is all thanks to him.'
What was strange was that the trip from North Kaelen to Brindleton couldn't be made in just a few hours.
Ian Sheffield smoothed the wrinkled cuffs of his suit jacket. His eyelashes fluttered. "Business trip."
Erin Lowell played along, pretending she didn't see through his excuse. "When are you heading back?"
He understood she was asking when he would return to their home country. "When this matter of yours is resolved."
"Did I cause trouble for you again—"
The redness in Ian Sheffield's eyes had faded. His brow furrowed slightly as he cut her off. "Don't overthink it. No one ever said you were trouble."
'She was never trouble to him. Whatever she did, he did what he did for her willingly.'
'Although he had initially been ordered to help her, with the passage of time, everything had changed. His actions became willing, and he found it harder and harder to control his own heart.'
'It was true; he'd never said it. Four years ago, during the darkest period of my life, he suddenly appeared and has kept me safe ever since.'
'The trouble surrounding me never stopped, but he solved one problem after another for me, never once blaming me.'
'He had lost his temper with me once, though. He'd smashed a priceless vase worth tens of millions. That was when I'd barged into the Sullivan estate, intending to take the whole family down with me.'
'He was at his most ferocious then, his eyes bloodshot and his hands covered in blood, but he never laid a single finger on me.'