The smoothly gliding car was warm and clean. The driver did his best to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn't help glancing into the rearview mirror several times.
Summer Thorne was slumped against the right rear seat, unconscious.
Timothy York had originally been sitting on the other side.
But Summer Thorne was limp and unresponsive. Even with her seatbelt fastened, her head had lolled to the side several times.
In the end, Timothy York moved to sit beside her, lending her his shoulder so her head had something to rest on.
The car was utterly silent, save for her breathing—quick and labored. Burning with a fever on top of having had alcohol, she must have been in extreme discomfort.
Timothy York remained perfectly still, gazing out the window and quietly toying with a black matchbox in his hand.
Yet in the dark reflection of the window, the silhouettes of two figures were pressed closely together.
Hazy and intimate.
The car soon reached the hotel parking garage and stopped right by the elevators.
Timothy York supported Summer Thorne's head as he unbuckled her seatbelt.
The driver had been wanting to say something the entire trip, and now he finally couldn't hold it in any longer. "Your grandfather is still waiting for you at home."
He was a long-serving employee of the York Family and had seen his share of things. While it wasn't his place to comment on most matters, Timothy York was still young and had only recently returned to the country. He couldn't resist offering a word of caution.
Timothy York just acknowledged him quietly, then carried Summer Thorne's burning body into the elevator.
Adrift in a sea of confusion, Summer Thorne regained a sliver of awareness. Her eyelids were too heavy to lift. She sensed someone holding her face, slowly trickling water into her mouth.
The cool, soothing water made her feel much better. She fought to open her eyes but could only manage a thin slit.
An impossibly blurry figure stood before her. At the same time, she felt someone undoing the frog closures at her collar.
The line of meticulously sewn frog closures, running from her neck downwards, came undone one by one in the person's hands...
A sense of unease washed over Summer Thorne. Though her mind was clouded, she still reached out, trying to stop the hand.
She flailed, grabbing blindly, and finally caught it.
The hand was warm and dry, its temperature perfectly soothing. After she grasped it, it enclosed her own hand in its grip.
She felt a strange sense of peace, but in the next moment, she lost consciousness again.
「The next morning」
Summer Thorne woke up in a large hotel bed.
She was alone in the room.
Her body ached, and her throat was dry and hoarse. She stared at the unfamiliar hotel room for a long time as her mind slowly cleared.
Realizing something, Summer Thorne threw back the covers to look.
Beneath the sheets, she was completely naked. Her dress and other clothes were gone.
At that moment, the image of a tall, imposing man flashed through her mind.
Timothy York.
'That's right. He was the last person I saw last night.'
Before she could recall anything else, she heard the beep of a keycard at the door, followed by someone pushing it open and stepping inside.
Summer Thorne clutched the sheet to her chest, sitting frozen on the bed. She stared toward the doorway, her mind a complete blank—
A woman dressed like a manager appeared in her line of sight. Seeing that she was awake, the woman let out a sigh of relief. "Miss Thorne, you're awake."
It took Summer Thorne a moment to collect herself before she responded.
"You were running a fever last night. A doctor came by to check on you. It should be gone by now, but are you still feeling unwell anywhere?" she asked, walking over to pour a glass of water and hand it to Summer Thorne.
Summer Thorne drank half the glass of water, feeling herself finally wake up completely.
Just as she set the glass down, the manager held out a robe. "Your dress has been sent for dry-cleaning; it should be back in about half an hour. Perhaps you'd like to take a shower first? I can have breakfast brought up so you can eat before taking your medicine."
"Okay, thank you."
Fragments of the previous night flashed through Summer Thorne's mind. Just as the manager was about to leave, she couldn't help but call out, "When did Mr. York leave?"
The manager smiled faintly. "Mr. York brought you up to the room and left as soon as he had called a doctor for you."
Summer Thorne nodded, asking no more questions.
This was a hotel owned by the York Family. She had been a guest at their banquet last night, and Timothy York had helped her when she fell ill. It seemed perfectly reasonable for him to have brought her here.
But as Summer Thorne touched the collar of her bathrobe, she couldn't help but remember that hand unfastening her dress while she was drifting in and out of consciousness...
It wasn't until she had gotten ready and was in a car leaving the hotel that Summer Thorne finally fished her phone out of her handbag.
She had a fair idea of the storm that last night's events at the banquet must have kicked up. 'It's better to put off reading things I know will be upsetting.'
And sure enough, when she opened her social media apps, topics about the banquet were everywhere. But the ones with her name on them were front and center.
There were countless discussions, but the one trending the highest was Rose Stone's bombshell accusation—
Everyone was debating the truth of the incident, the identity of the victim, and what kind of punishment she—the alleged abuser—should face.
The level of attention was far beyond what Summer Thorne had expected.
Honestly, she'd thought throwing those three glasses of wine at Wyatt Young would be enough of a public disgrace. She never expected Rose Stone to pop up and make the whole situation even bigger.
While she had no desire for this to be dragged into the light and picked apart by the public, there was nothing she could do about it now.
It was nearly noon when she arrived back at the Sutton residence. After paying the driver and getting out of the car, Summer Thorne was surprised to see a familiar Bentley parked out front.
It was Mason Crawford's car.
Summer Thorne hurried through the front gate.
As she walked into the living room, she heard Mason Crawford's voice—
"...People need to know their place. You only take on what you can handle. When it's time to accept your fate, you accept it. Sometimes, the more you refuse to accept it, the more you struggle to survive—"
Just as Summer Thorne walked in, his chilling gaze landed on her, and he slowly finished his sentence: "—the more brutal your death will be."
Austin Sutton and Iris Pryce were both present, and neither looked pleased.
After all, Mason Crawford had never once acknowledged them as his in-laws since the wedding. Now, with Summer Thorne determined to divorce him, the three of them sitting together created an incredibly awkward atmosphere.
Summer Thorne, however, just smiled, breaking the tension. "You're here? Why didn't you give me a heads-up?"
"What's this compared to the surprise you gave me?" Mason Crawford retorted.
Summer Thorne glanced at Austin Sutton's ghastly pale face. "This dress is too tight," she said. "I'm going upstairs to change. If you have something to say, you can say it to me up there."
With that, she headed upstairs. To her surprise, Mason Crawford actually stood up and followed.
They went upstairs, one after the other. The moment Summer Thorne reached her bedroom door, Mason Crawford grabbed her from behind. His large hand shot out, clamped around her neck, and slammed her against the door.
He stared down at her, his gaze cold enough to freeze her solid. "Who told you to drag this up again? Summer Thorne, you really think I wouldn't dare to kill you, don't you?"