Peyton Joyce walked in on this highly volatile standoff. A strange expression flickered across her sickly pale face before her gaze landed on Simon Hawthorne, whose eyes looked as though they had been steeped in ice water.
"Simon," she called out softly.
Simon was abruptly pulled from his thoughts. He looked at Peyton. The temperature had dropped today, and the woman’s frail frame seemed to sway in the cold wind. Pursing his lips, he stepped forward. "Why are you here? You should be resting."
Peyton shook her head and let out a light cough, as if she had caught a chill. "I’m fine. I was just worried about you and Zoe..." She looked at Zoe Lancaster, a hint of guilt hidden in her eyes, as if she had done something terribly wrong to her. "Zoe, I heard you were injured. I came to see you."
The woman seemed to be trying hard to conceal her shame, her manner toward Zoe laced with apology. After all, not long ago, Simon—Zoe’s own husband—had chosen Peyton without a moment’s hesitation.
Seeing Peyton’s expression felt like a thorn plunging straight into Zoe’s heart. Every breath she took sent sharp waves of agony through her chest.
Zoe pressed her lips together, her spine going rigid. "I had decent luck. I didn’t die out there."
Otherwise, if she had died, wouldn’t the two of them finally get their happily ever after?
Simon frowned slightly, displeased by her words. He turned to look at her and was about to leave when Peyton suddenly covered her mouth and began to cough. Her cheeks grew even paler, and she unconsciously grabbed Simon’s wrist.
Simon had no choice but to stop and look at her. "Where does it hurt? Let’s have the doctor come over."
The man’s concern was entirely genuine. It was a reflexive need to care for her, as if he were terrified something might happen to her, treating her like a precious treasure. If he didn’t love her deeply, why else would he react this way?
Zoe’s eyes were stinging and cold. She silently laughed at her own pathetic state.
Miles Yates watched the scene impassively, his mind churning. As a man, he could easily tell that Simon’s feelings for Peyton were far from ordinary. However, right now, his only concern was Zoe’s emotional state.
He looked at the woman. Her black hair tumbled down like a waterfall. Because of her illness, her porcelain skin appeared even more translucent. Her small face held a very faint expression, and only her eyes betrayed an uncontrollable tinge of red. She was intoxicatingly beautiful, possessing a radiance that no one else could ever hope to rival.
She was heartbroken. He could feel it.
The long-dormant, placid heart beneath his ribs suddenly felt as if its rhythm had been knocked off balance. A dull, numbing ache accompanied it, making him deeply uncomfortable.
His brow furrowed instinctively as he walked up to her. Speaking with gentle patience, he said, "Jules told me about the situation. You don’t need to worry. He has a house in Kingsford that’s been empty for quite a while. You can just go stay there."
With that, he extended his hand toward her. "Will you come with me?"
Zoe’s gaze wavered as she finally looked at the man in front of her.
His eyes were completely open and sincere, and the outstretched hand was the very picture of gentlemanly grace. He was steady, reserved, and unhurried—a stark contrast to Simon’s aloof, unapproachable coldness.
Her throat bobbed as she choked up. "I..."
"Don’t you dare, Zoe Lancaster." The dark, oppressive voice bored into her eardrums.
Zoe turned her head and met Simon’s bone-chillingly apathetic face. His jaw was clenched tight, and his thin lips curled into a half-mocking sneer. "This is our family business. What right does an outsider have to interfere?"
Miles looked at him. The two men were of similar height. One was mild and steady, the other arrogant and proud, yet in this very moment, they radiated the exact same suffocating aura.
"It’s true that it isn’t appropriate for an outsider to interfere, but Miss Lancaster has her own personal will. Mr. Hawthorne, you cannot dictate her choices. She has suffered nothing but grievances here. What is wrong with her leaving?"
A cold glint flashed in Simon’s eyes. "President Yates, from what standpoint are you saying these things to me?"
"As her friend." Miles replied without a shred of hesitation.
He hadn’t claimed to be her boss, choosing instead to invoke the title of a friend. This made Simon’s frown deepen.
Peyton’s eyes flickered slightly. Resting her hand on Simon’s arm, she said, "Is Zoe on such good terms with President Yates? That’s quite surprising." It was a seemingly harmless expression of curiosity, yet it acted like a lit fuse.
Simon glared coldly at Zoe. "Zoe, be obedient. Stay here and recover from your injuries."
Zoe felt dizzy. Her vision swam, especially when she looked at Peyton’s hand resting so intimately on Simon’s arm. It was a habit born of long familiarity—a dynamic they probably didn’t even notice themselves. Even in front of her, the rightful wife, they didn’t hold back in the slightest. She truly was a pathetic, cuckolded fool.
Clenching her fingers so tightly that her burning palms nearly bled, Zoe refused to look at Simon. She turned to Miles and said, "I’ll have to trouble you then, President Yates. Let’s go."
Her stance was finalized. Peyton’s arrival had pushed everything over the edge, leaving her with no way to back down. She just wanted... to scrape together whatever dignity she had left.
Miles threw a passing glance at Simon, entirely unbothered by the tense situation, and said to her in a low voice, "Put on a coat. The wind is strong outside."
Zoe gave a strained nod and followed the man out the door in a numb daze.
As she walked past Simon, her wrist was seized in a vicelike grip, forcing her to a halt.
She heard Simon’s voice, thick with suppressed fury. "Zoe, I am giving you one last chance. If you dare leave—"
Zoe steeled her heart. Barely able to suppress the urge to scream at him, she pried herself free from his grasp inch by inch and dropped a single parting sentence: "You can’t have your cake and eat it too."
Simon felt the absolute resolve in the woman’s struggle to break free. His gaze remained fixed on her face, the icy rage in his eyes threatening to devour everything. He had never seen Zoe like this before. He had always known that her true nature was prickly. She used to be vivacious, full of schemes, bright and vibrant. She had never been like this—as if her true self had been drowned in a deep abyss, completely devoid of life.
Then, he watched helplessly as she walked out the door without a single backward glance. Subconsciously, he moved to chase after her.
"Simon!" Peyton cried out weakly.
The sudden sound violently jolted him back to reality. He turned his head. Peyton was clutching her head in agony, her face growing impossibly pale. Her voice was low and strained. "My head hurts so much. I think I’m having another episode, Simon."
She swayed on her feet. Simon’s expression shifted slightly. He turned back and wrapped his arm around her shoulders to support her.
Right before getting into the car, Zoe couldn’t resist glancing back. This was the exact scene that greeted her eyes. The man tenderly pulled the woman into a protective embrace before scooping her up into his arms and striding straight back inside.
A gust of wind blew past, lifting the hair against her cheeks and blurring her vision. It conveniently hid the sudden mist that welled up in her eyes, making it seem as though nothing had happened at all.
She thought it was right to leave now. Otherwise, who knew how much more humiliating it would get.
Miles gave her a profound look. He sensed the aura of despair clinging to her. As he gazed at the magnificent manor behind them, a slow, quiet resolve settled over his eyes.
They were not a good match. She wasn’t happy. Therefore... he wanted to protect her.