2. As Generous As Before

Shirley POV：

Connor added my bank account.

A few moments later, my phone vibrated with a notification. The transfer was in.

I looked at him, a cold smirk on my lips.

"Thank you. Just as generous as before."

Without waiting for a response, I turned toward the exit, forcing every muscle in my body to hide the agony.

The cold wind bit through my soaked clothes, sending a violent shiver through me.

A dull, familiar ache began to pool in my lower abdomen.

My hands shook as I fumbled through my handbag.

"Where is it?" I whispered.

Dammit. I was out of painkillers.

I slumped against the cold wall, clutching my stomach.

A horrific scene from two years ago flashed behind my eyes.

That winter night... lying on the freezing pavement as they kicked me, over and over, aiming for my pregnant belly.

I felt my baby forced through my pelvis, sliding out of my body and onto the frozen ground.

Then, in my arms, that tiny life grew cold and rigid, inch by agonizing inch.

The old scar on my soul was being ripped open again, raw and bleeding.

I hugged myself tight, gasping for air, forcing the memories back into the dark.

My phone vibrated. Josh’s name flickered on the cracked screen.

A wave of warmth washed over me. I gripped the phone like a lifeline.

"Shirley? How did it go?" Josh’s voice was like a hearth in the cold.

I fought to keep my voice steady. "It’s handled. He didn't get his price hike."

But hearing his kindness, a sob caught in my throat.

"What’s wrong? Did the crew give you a hard time?" He sounded frantic now.

My eyes burned, tears blurring my vision. "I'm fine. Some asshole hit me with his car. It just... it hurts a little."

"What? Are you hurt?" he demanded instantly.

"No..." I sniffled, wiping my nose.

Josh let out a soft, regretful laugh. "This is on me. I never should’ve asked you to go. Just hold on for me, okay? I’ll be back first thing in the morning."

After hanging up, I looked up to find Connor still standing there, his eyes fixed on me.

I acted as if he were invisible, sidestepping him and bolting back into the rain.

The downpour hadn't let up; within seconds, my clothes were drenched all over again.

The moment I sank into the driver’s seat, a violent, blunt ache flared up in my lower back, forcing a long, pained groan from my throat.

I slumped over the steering wheel, waiting for what felt like an eternity just to muster the strength to move.

Damn it.

The shock was finally wearing off, and the real pain was setting in.

That bastard Connor had hit me harder than I’d realized.

I hadn’t even checked how much he’d transferred—was it enough to cover an ER visit?

Forget it. Don’t think about him.

I twisted the key, desperate to just get home.

The engine roared and sputtered, but it wouldn’t turn over. I tried again. And again.

Same result.

Frustration boiled over, and I slammed my fists against the steering wheel.

"Don't do this to me! Come on, start, you piece of junk!"

The beat-up car stayed as dead as a corpse.

Worse, the impact of hitting the wheel sent a fresh wave of agony through my ribs.

I leaned back against the seat, the combined ache in my back and abdomen making it hard to draw a full breath.

The rain continued to drum against the roof, and the chill sent goosebumps racing across my skin.

Then, a soft tap came at the window. Connor was standing there, holding a massive black umbrella.

I rolled down the window, my patience worn thin.

"We’re even. I’m not going to sue you, so just go."

"Get in my car," he said, his voice calm. "Unless you're planning on staying here all night."

"I'm fine."

"You're going to sit here until dawn? Or maybe trek through the mud to find a cab? No driver is crazy enough to come out this far in this weather. You'll freeze to death before you even see a pair of headlights."

I froze.

A gust of cold wind whipped through the window, and every fiber of my being screamed for the warmth of a home I couldn't reach.

After hesitating for a few long seconds, I finally pushed the door open and stepped under the shelter of his umbrella.

We walked side-by-side through the downpour, but even as the rain lashed at my side, I kept as much distance between us as possible.

The woody scent of his cologne was exactly as I remembered, yet now it made my skin crawl.

This was the man who had promised to marry me a thousand times, only to leave me shattered and bleeding in the end.

His car was idling ahead—a Rolls-Royce Spectre.

Connor pulled open the rear door. I slid in cautiously, my lower back screaming in protest.

I gripped the edge of the seat, biting back a groan of pure agony.

My mind flashed back to the old days when he drove a beat-up, second-hand Toyota and used to stress over the cost of every minor repair.

Now, three years later, he had traded up to this—and he even had a chauffeur.

The cavernous interior, the supple leather, the dreamy Starlight Headliner—every detail felt like a deliberate mockery of my own wretched state.

Drenched in filthy rainwater, I huddled at the very edge of the seat, terrified of staining the pristine upholstery.

So, he got rich after he got together with that woman, didn't he?

I let my mind go blank, refusing to spiral further. I stared out the window into the gloom.

"Where to?" he asked.

"137 Briarview Road, Maple Court."

He stiffened.

"Maple Court? You've got to be kidding me. That place is a death trap."

I watched the torrential rain lash against the glass, my voice hollow.

"It’s called poverty, Mr. Rogers. Not all of us have the luxury of choice."

He stared at me for a long beat, his voice laced with something that sounded like... a faint sneer.

"Living in a dump like that? You're lucky you haven't been mugged yet."

Being in his car was already unbearable, that comment was the breaking point.

I fumbled for the door handle, desperate to get out.

But I couldn't find the release, and by the time I pressed the button, the driver had already engaged the locks.

"Let me out," I said, my voice trembling as the old wounds in my chest ripped wide open.

He studied me for a few agonizing seconds before addressing the driver.

"Move. Now."