3. To The Hotel

Shirley POV：

I whipped my head around to glare at him, but he didn't care.

He simply leaned back against the seat, withdrawing his gaze and ignoring me.

Realizing I only had to endure this for a short ride, I suppressed the irritation bubbling in my chest and turned back to the window.

The car sped through the rain, but something felt off.

The route didn’t look like the way to my neighborhood.

I turned back, panic rising.

"Connor, this isn't the way to my place."

He gave me a fleeting glance.

"Relax. I'm not human trafficking you. Just sit still."

"I said stop the car," I snapped, my voice rising. "I can find my own cab—"

He acted as if he hadn't heard a word, eyes closed, though he clearly wasn't sleeping.

I wanted to scream, to grab him and force him to stop.

But a few seconds later, my grip on the door handle loosened as the fight drained out of me.

The Connor in front of me wasn't the man from three years ago—the one whose eyes would crinkle into a smile at a single word from me.

This man sat there like a block of cold, hard metal.

Suddenly, I realized I had no idea how to even talk to him anymore.

I huddled in the corner of the leather seat, trying my best not to touch the expensive interior, staring tensely at the blurred road signs through the rain until the car pulled into the driveway of a five-star hotel.

"What the hell is this, Connor? Why are we at a hotel?"

My spine went rigid, my voice sharp and defensive in the cramped space.

He didn’t even look at me. His gaze drifted toward the doorman approaching the car, his tone as detached as if he were reviewing a contract.

"Don't make a scene. Move."

Memories from three years ago flooded back like a tidal wave.

The high-end hotel, the grand revolving doors—they acted like a key, violently twisting open a door in my mind I never dared to touch.

Because after that, my life had plummeted into a bottomless hell.

"No," I whispered, looking at him in terror.

"Connor... I don't want to go in there..."

A faint, mocking smile flickered on his lips.

He handed a bill to the doorman and strode away without a backward glance.

I gripped the strap of my bag, trailing after him in a state of utter disarray.

The brilliant glow from the massive crystal chandeliers felt like needles in my eyes.

Under the harsh lights, my soaked shoes left a trail of muddy footprints on the polished floor.

Shame burned through me; I wanted nothing more than to find a dark corner and disappear.

"Connor," I whispered, barely audible behind him. "I just want to go home."

He stopped in front of the elevator. His hand hovered behind my back—not quite touching, but ushering me forward—as he steered me in.

The mirrored walls of the elevator cabin reflected my misery against his splendor.

I was a drenched wreck, hair plastered to my cheeks, fingers clutching the mud-stained hem of my shirt.

He, meanwhile, was the picture of sartorial perfection, every inch of his suit radiating wealth and precision.

We had once been a perfect match; now, we were two different species.

I lowered my eyes, staring at a tiny patch of carpet by my toes.

Every second in that elevator made my heart ache with a sharper, more rhythmic throb.

Beep. 

Connor swiped the keycard and pushed the door open.

He stepped aside to let me in but remained in the hallway, hands in his pockets, not letting even the tip of his shoe cross the threshold.

"There are clean clothes and pain-relief spray waiting for you," he said. "Get cleaned up, then meet me at the restaurant downstairs for dinner."

"I don't need—"

"Just do as you're told," his icy tone cutting me off before I could refuse. "My car hit you. This is just protocol. Don't read into it."

The door clicked shut, cold and final.

Standing alone in the silent luxury of the suite, the wire in my head—stretched to its absolute limit—finally snapped.

My strength vanished, and I slid down the door until I was sitting on the plush carpet, letting every bit of my futile defense crumble.

It was a business suite, spacious and comfortable.

In the wardrobe hung a full set of clothes, from lingerie to a coat—all in my exact size.

With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone to check the transfer notification.

$30,000!

My breath hitched.

For several seconds, I just stood there, my mouth hanging open in stunned silence.

The bastard was exactly as he’d been three years ago—masterful at settling everything with this kind of brute, arrogant efficiency.

But I was poor.

So poor that, looking at the string of zeros on my screen, a sick thought actually crawled into my mind:

If I let him run me over a few more times, could I finally afford a decent life in this brutal world?

I pulled my lips into a grimace, shaking the thought away.

I stripped off my sodden clothes and stepped into the bath.

Warm water cascaded from the showerhead, steam quickly fogging the frosted glass.

The chill that had settled deep in my bones finally began to dissipate, and my fingertips, once purple from the cold, flushed pink in the heat.

I turned slightly, catching sight of the horrific bruise on my back in the mirror.

Pain, tangled with shame, crept over my body like a suffocating vine.

What was Connor playing at?

The massive payout, the five-star suite… was this some kind of pity for an ex, or just a way to flaunt how high above me he had climbed?

Tears rolled into the bath, vanishing into the soapy water.

I traced the faint, nearly invisible stretch marks on my lower abdomen—the devastating souvenir he had left me.

I jerked my hand away as if staying a second longer would make the phantom pain return.

--

Thirty minutes later, I arrived at the restaurant, the herbal scent of analgesic spray still clinging to my skin.

The moody lighting carved deep shadows into his sharp jawline. He wasn't doing much—just listening—but a wave of unease washed over me from across the room.

I stood rooted to the spot, holding my breath, just as he looked my way.

"Fix it within three days, or hand in your resignation," he said into the receiver, his voice ice-cold.

My heart skipped a beat.

Taking a steadying breath, I spoke up.

"The accident has been settled. Can I skip this dinner?"