Dylan let out a guttural scream, and his cronies lunged forward, trying to pin Niamh down.
When she was younger, Niamh had trained in kickboxing and self–defense for a while–enough that she could at least put up a fight. At first, the thugs Dylan brought weren’t able to get the upper hand.
But it was three against one, and no amount of training could make up for the difference in strength and numbers. Before long, Niamh’s face and arms were streaked with bruises, her clothes torn and hanging off her, leaving her looking completely battered.
“Get her! Don’t hold back–teach her a lesson!” Dylan spat, grabbing a fistful of Niamh’s hair and slamming her head against the window frame.
“Hurry up, strip her down!” he barked.
Despite the commotion echoing through the office, no one came to check what was happening. Niamh realized there was no one coming to save her; if she wanted out, she’d have to save herself.
With every ounce of adrenaline, she kicked Dylan hard between the legs. As he doubled over, she yanked open the window and, without thinking, flung herself out–straight from the second floor.
Outside, thunder and lightning tore across the sky, the world shrouded beneath a pitch–black storm.
Niamh wasn’t even sure how she managed to escape the Juvenile Rehabilitation Center. She was terrified, running blindly through the downpour, her mind wiped blank by fear.
By the time she staggered onto the main road, she was soaked from head to toe, rainwater streaming down her like a drowned kitten.
Terror and humiliation welled up, and she started to cry. But in that torrential rain, no one could tell the difference between tears and raindrops.
Just then, a sleek black Maybach cruised by and stopped abruptly, sending a wave of water splashing over her.
Even through the curtain of rain, Niamh recognized the license plate instantly there was no mistaking it.
1/2
Chapter zo
The back window rolled down, and there sat Jonathan.
For a second, she forgot to breathe.
Jonathan looked exactly as she remembered: sharp, immaculate suit, exuding confidence and power. His eyes were deep and unreadable, swallowing up her miserable appearance in an instant.
It figured, Niamh thought bitterly. Of all people to run into at a time like this, it had
to be Jonathan.
He studied her with a gaze as cold and slick as a serpent, gliding over her skin and leaving her uneasy.
His eyes held no contempt, no disgust, not even surprise or pity–just something she couldn’t decipher. All Niamh knew was that standing here, looking like this, was a new kind of humiliation.
She hesitated, caught between explaining herself and staying silent, and missed her chance to speak.
“Get in,” Jonathan said, his voice unexpectedly gentle.
Niamh stood there, shivering in the downpour, her figure blurred and fragile. Her long hair, plastered to her scalp, made her face look even paler, her lips nearly colorless. Her office clothes were ripped, her skin scraped and raw.
Jonathan appraised her, his expression unreadable. He realized, for the first time, that Niamh–soaked to the bone–was strangely captivating.
With no other options, Niamh reached for the car door–when suddenly, someone
else leaned out from the back seat.
“Niamh, what happened to you? You’re drenched! Get in, quick!” Marina called out, her voice full of concern.
Seeing Marina in Jonathan’s car shouldn’t have surprised Niamh, but in her current state, she couldn’t stomach the idea of being compared side by side.
Marina was immaculate in a pastel pink skirt suit, her blouse collar unbuttoned just a little too low–Niamh didn’t care to wonder who had done that. Marina’s makeup was usually flawless, but now her lipstick was smudged; Niamh didn’t want to think about who might have left it that way.
“What are you waiting for? If you stay out in the rain any longer, you’ll catch your death, Marina urged again. “Come on, Jonathan won’t mind if you get the car a little dirty. There’s plenty of room between the two of us.”
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