Guinevere felt as if she had been standing there with her eyes shut tight for what seemed like forever, stuck in a weird bubble of time where her own heartbeat was the loudest thing she could hear. Each beat sounded in her ears like drums warning her that something bad was definitely going to happen. When she finally made herself open her eyes, everything came back into focus quickly… and she gasped suddenly.
The black SUV had stopped so close that she could see her own shaky reflection in the shiny surface of its bumper. One wrong step one small mistake and she could have been crushed under the heavy metal car. She swallowed hard, realizing just how close she had come to danger. She was just barely away from being in a hospital bed next to her grandmother… or even worse, lying completely still while people quietly said they were sorry to a body that could no longer hear them.
That thought made her stomach churn really badly. A bitter taste rose in her throat as panic hit her hard, making her feel cold and overwhelmed. Her legs felt weak, like they had no bones in them. She could hardly stay standing.
A voice, muffled but clearly annoyed, called out from inside the car, but Guinevere barely noticed it. Everything around her seemed far away, as if she was underwater. The edges of her vision blurred. She felt a wave of shame, even stronger than the fear that had grabbed her a few moments before.
She quickly bowed her head low, and the words rushed out of her in short, broken bursts.
"I'm sorry I'm so sorry I didn't see I wasn't paying attention I'm really sorry…"
Her voice shook uncontrollably. She didn't even look up to see the driver's face or the expression of the person sitting behind the dark windows. She just couldn't make herself do it. All she could think about was how silly she had been, how careless, how she could have made everything worse at a time when her grandmother needed her support the most.
Before anyone could say anything to her panicked apologies, Guinevere backed away clumsily, turned around, and hurried off, her steps uneven and shaky. She didn't dare to look back. Shame pushed her forward as if she was running from a crime scene her own mistake burning hot against her skin.
Her grandmother's face appeared in her mind, looking weak and tired under the hospital sheets. The doctor's words kept playing over and over incurable heart disease. Words that felt like sharp knives. Words she hadn't fully understood yet. How could she be expected to? How could she be expected to stay calm when her world felt like it was constantly falling apart?
She took short, uneven breaths as she walked faster, desperate to get away from the scene and the memory of the SUV.
Back inside the SUV, the driver let go of the steering wheel with shaky hands. He mumbled something quietly about careless people walking in the street and close calls. But the man sitting in the back didn't respond. His eyes stayed focused through the window, watching the girl who had almost been killed as she walked away.
His gaze was intense, observant, and almost disturbingly unwavering. Anyone else would have glanced away by this point. But not him.
"Clinton," he spoke at last, his voice gentle and quiet, "who is she?"
Clinton, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned slightly and glanced at his friend using the rearview mirror. The man's clear interest was impossible to miss. It wasn't the quick glance you'd give someone you didn't know. No, it was something different deeper, more intense, and unsettling.
"I know her," Clinton said after pausing briefly. "Her name is Guinevere. Everyone just calls her Guin. Her grandma owns the little store close to my place. I shop there a lot. She helps out sometimes quiet girl, always working, never really says much."
The man made a soft sound, still looking at the place where Guinevere had gone.
"Interesting," he quietly said.
Clinton's neck got stiff. The tone was soft too soft. A tone that usually meant his friend had already decided something, even if he hadn't said it out loud.
And that made him worry.
Clinton had known him long enough to tell when something or someone had gotten his interest. It hardly ever stayed simple. His friend wasn't one to pay attention to people. He wasn't one to ask about people he didn't know. He hardly saw the people he worked with unless he needed them to do something.
But that girl…
That wild, scared girl on the road…
He noticed her.
An odd, uneasy feeling went through Clinton's chest, a feeling he couldn't place but one he just didn't like.
"You seem interested," Clinton asked carefully, trying to sound relaxed.
The man leaned back a little, his eyes narrowed as he thought. "She could've died."
"That wasn't what she wanted," Clinton mumbled. "She seemed… lost."
"That's exactly why I'm worried." The man's voice was steady, but it held a weight that made the air inside the SUV seem heavier.
Clinton looked worried. "You don't even know what's going on with her."
"I will," he said softly, like the decision was already set in stone.
Clinton's stomach felt worse. "Why? She's just a girl. Someone you almost hit."
"A stranger whose eyes showed something I haven't seen for a while," the man answered, finally looking away from the window. "Desperation. Fear. And something else something I can't yet name."
Clinton breathed out slowly, trying not to squeeze the top of his nose. He had seen this before the way his friend's interest could turn into a chase. And when that happened, things were hardly ever easy.
"Sir," the driver said quietly, sounding scared, "should we still go to the airport?"
There was a long pause before the man nodded. "Yes. My family is waiting."
The driver turned the engine back on, but Clinton stayed tense, with his thoughts going around in circles.
The SUV moved forward, leaving behind the crosswalk and the faint marks from the tires that almost ended Guinevere's life.
Guinevere was outside, just a block away, leaning weakly against the hospital's cold wall. She only wanted to rest for a moment, but her legs failed as soon as she stopped walking. She fell until she was sitting down, holding her bag tightly as if it could fix her falling apart world.
Her hands were shaking hard.
Everything her grandmother's sickness, the huge medical costs, the worry of losing her last family member, and now almost dying all hit her at the same time.
"What am I going to do…?" she quietly asked herself, her voice breaking in the empty area around her.
Her grandmother needed her help. Needed medicine. Needed something to look forward to.
And all Guinevere had was a job that barely paid and a heart full of worry.
A single tear went down her face, then another. She put her head against her knees.
"I can't lose her," she whispered. "I can't…"
Cars drove by. People entered and left the hospital. Life went on. But Guinevere felt stuck in the middle of everything small, helpless, and by herself.
Inside an SUV already quickly driving to the airport, someone closed their eyes while thinking.
Guinevere did not know someone had seen her.
Did not know a stranger cared about the girl who said sorry and left.
Did not know her life had just touched someone who could change it a lot.
But right now, all she felt was worry.
Worry and a strong wish to save the only family she had left.
CHAPTER SEVEN: The Man Who Always Wins
Everyone was scared of Leonard wherever his name was mentioned. In the world of business, he wasn't just respected but also avoided. People secretly called him names like the devil, the shark, and the man who always wins. And all those names were true.
He was the kind of guy who could walk into a room and instantly figure things out way ahead of everyone else. People said his instincts were so good that he could read minds. He always won in deals, and his partners were either happy or scared, depending on how the talks went. Leonard was rich, smart, influential, and totally dangerous, all wrapped up in one calm man.
But today, of all days, he couldn't focus.
Because of a girl. Because if the girl he had met while on his way to work.
She had almost died after getting hit by his car just an hour ago.
Her name was Guinevere.
He quietly said her name again, his jaw getting tight.
It was silly.
He had seen so many beautiful, smart, and tricky women women who wanted him for his money or power. None of them had ever caught his attention. But that girl on the road, the one who looked scared and desperate she had made him stop and think.
That bothered him.
Ever since the encounter he had with her through his window, the one where she couldn't see him or even have an idea he was sitting inside the black SUV.
She had not left his mind. Staying rent free, like he had just invited her in without any passkey
Leonard got out of his private elevator and went into the top floor of Hartman Industries, trying to forget about her. Any interest he had was just a short distraction. He had more important things to deal with, like the meeting waiting for him.
His shoes clicked loudly on the marble floor. Workers lowered their heads as he walked by no one dared to look at him for too long. He seemed cold, dark, and dangerous.
Clinton walked quietly behind him, watching carefully.
Leonard opened the meeting room door without slowing down.
"Gentlemen," he said casually, acting like he hadn't made them wait twenty minutes. "Let's get started."
The clients stood up and shook his hand awkwardly, trying to impress someone they feared. Leonard sat down at the head of the table, leaning back like a hunter who knew the prey couldn't escape.
Papers were spread out. Numbers were shown. Plans were suggested.
Leonard listened, but he wasn't really paying attention.
He kept thinking about the girl who had bowed and apologized on the road, her voice shaking. Her face popped into his head again, her weakness and worry almost made him miss a detail in the contract the client was showing.
Almost.
Leonard looked through the paper. "Your numbers don't back up that percentage."
The client got tense. "Mr. Hartman, our estimate is fair "
"It's too high," Leonard interrupted smoothly, pointing to a line. "By fifteen percent."
The client turned pale.
Clinton looked sadly at the poor man.
Leonard went on, his voice smooth but strong, "If you desire to work with Hartman Industries, you must use actual numbers. Not made-up ones."
The client took a breath, trying to get some courage. "If we go lower than that, we will lose too much of what we should get. Mr. Hartman, we cannot agree to terms that leave us with nothing."
Leonard raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "Nothing? You will leave with a huge deal worth millions that you could not get yourself. I will leave knowing that you won't bring my company down with your lack of skill. That seems fair to me."
Some of the board members moved in their seats, feeling uneasy.
The client held onto the table tightly. "If this keeps going, we will back out of the deal."
Leonard smiled in an unkind way. "You will not."
The man blinked his eyes.
"You need me more than I need you," Leonard stated plainly, touching the contract. "And we both understand that."
The room became silent. Very silent. The client started to look defeated.
Leonard did not brag about it. He didn't have to. He just waited, his fingers together, his eyes calm and sharp.
Finally, the client breathed out, sounding unsure.
"…Okay."
Leonard nodded once. "Great. Clinton will send you the updated terms soon."
The agreement was finalized. Another win. Another powerful group agreeing to what he wanted.
But still…
As the men walked out, shaking hands stiffly and smiling nervously, Leonard's thoughts went back to something else.
Why am I still thinking about her?
It bothered him. Made him annoyed. It distracted him like nothing had in years.
He felt no emotions for people he didn't know. He didn't think about people he almost hit with his car. But he could still see her shaking eyelashes, her shaky voice, and how she ran like a scared deer.
Leonard loosened his tie a little, leaning back in his chair.
Who was she?
Why did her face feel like a piece of a puzzle that he didn't know was missing?
Why did her desperate eyes stay in his thoughts like a story that wasn't finished?
He tilted his head back, closing his eyes for a second.
He wanted to find out. Not because he was kind. Not because he felt bad for her.
Just curious.
A feeling he couldn't explain.
"Sir?" Clinton asked carefully. "Should I get ready for your next meeting?"
Leonard opened his eyes, the coldness coming back strong, steady, and familiar.
"Yes," he replied. "But first—"
He stopped talking.
Clinton stood up straighter. "Sir?"
Leonard's voice stayed calm, but something strange showed in his eyes.
"Find out everything you can about the girl."
Clinton felt nervous.
He knew this way of speaking.
He knew what it meant.
And it frightened him.
"Yes, sir," he said quietly.
Leonard's eyes moved to the window the city stretching far below like small, unimportant pieces.
Guinevere had no idea that a dangerous man was now interested in her.
And he was not going to let it go.