"Taylor,"
Voilet gazed at the man's detached expression, her heart feeling as though it were clenched by an invisible fist.
The words caught in her throat, turning bitter and heavy.
"I really didn't mean to."
Taylor's lips curved slightly in a faint, humorless smile, but he remained silent.
His handsome, mature face betrayed no emotion—calm and unreadable, like an audience member watching a play unfold with detached amusement.
Taylor didn't believe her.
Nothing she said would convince him now.
A wave of bitterness rose in Voilet's chest, so overwhelming that it nearly choked her.
The late autumn night grew colder in that moment, the chill seeping into her bones.
While the two spoke, Logan and his companions, still sprawled on the ground, exchanged furtive glances.
Slowly, they began inching backward, desperate to slip away unnoticed.
They had never imagined that their random target would actually have ties to Taylor.
