Seeing Zoe Lancaster’s deep interest in the matter, Simon Hawthorne narrowed his eyes cryptically. He stroked her hipbone as if petting a kitten, his tone indifferent. "You can still look it up now. It was a sensation in Portellis back then. Were you following the news too?"
Zoe certainly knew about it. But not from the news. At the time, she hadn’t had a single moment to spare for the outside world.
Harboring her suspicions, she swallowed hard before asking, "Your car accident... was it around the Braxton Bay area?"
As she asked, her heart rate spiked, pounding violently against her ribs as if trying to burst through her chest. Cold sweat seeped into her palms. A bold assumption was rapidly taking shape in her mind, one that felt utterly absurd.
She wondered if it could be... If it could really be... That the person from back then was...
Simon paused and lifted his long eyelashes. "You know about it? It was indeed at Braxton Bay."
But he quickly reasoned that he had nearly lost his life there. Given his prominent status and the unrestricted nature of the Portellis media, the incident had been heavily covered in the region for quite some time. Anyone who followed the local news would have heard about it.
Zoe’s heartbeat stalled for a split second.
It felt as if a vital bone had been ripped from her spine, leaving her struggling to hold herself upright.
Her lips trembled imperceptibly. "It really was you..."
That summer, she had been in Portellis the entire time. How could she not know about the explosive car crash? She had been right near the scene of the accident.
She had watched with her own eyes as the Bugatti flipped over. The scene was plunged into gruesome chaos, filled with unending screams. The car began leaking fuel, and flames crawled up the chassis. No one dared to get close; nobody was willing to risk their own life for a stranger.
But she had seen it—she had seen a blood-drenched hand reaching out against the glass, desperately and stubbornly trying to force the car door open to survive. She had witnessed that person’s sheer will to live.
And so, she had run over without a moment’s hesitation. Amidst the gasps and screams, her face devoid of emotion and seemingly fearless of death, she grabbed hold of the car door. Disregarding whether she might die in the process, she let the black smoke and fresh blood stain her dress. Feeling the terrifyingly rising heat and the imminent threat of an explosion, she bent down and grasped the young man’s slender, beautifully bony hand.
At the time, she herself had harbored thoughts of dying. She merely figured that if she could save someone and accumulate good karma for her mother, it would be a good thing. If she couldn’t, then dying right there would mean an end to all her suffering. Therefore, she had given it absolutely everything she had to save that life.
She forcefully dragged a young man who was over six feet tall out of the wreckage. She ignored the cuts and burns inflicted on her own body by the shattered car door. Due to the lack of prompt medical attention, her wounds repeatedly festered and oozed pus in the following days, burdening her with lingering agony. Ever since that incident, a scar had remained in the dimple of her lower back.
It was rather ironic. During the height of passion, Simon would often lean down to kiss that very scar on her lower back. Yet, occasionally in bed, he would stroke it and remark, "A flaw in an otherwise perfect gem."
But this scar only existed because of him.
She wondered if this was fate. Zoe, however, felt it was simply a cruel trick of destiny.
"What’s wrong? Why are you spacing out?" Simon tightened his grip on her waist, his brow furrowing slightly.
Zoe abruptly snapped out of her reminiscence.
She stared at his face blankly, overwhelmed by an unspeakable bitterness and grief. It took an immense amount of courage for her to finally force the words out. "If I told you that the person from back then was..."
RING!
The phone in the man’s pocket rang at the worst possible moment. It ruthlessly cut Zoe off.
Simon lowered his eyes and pulled out his phone to check. Sitting right on his lap, there was no way Zoe could miss the caller ID on the screen: Peyton Joyce.
She instantly clenched her fingers into fists.
Simon had already answered, his peripheral vision resting coldly on her. "Peyton."
He called her Peyton. His voice was as intimate as ever.
Zoe’s body went completely rigid. If Simon hadn’t brought it up today, she might have spent her entire life oblivious to the fact that he was the person from back then. But he believed that Peyton was the one who had saved him.
"Simon, where did you go? I’m not feeling well at all," Peyton said, her voice soft and brimming with dependency. "I’ve thrown up so many times today. It seems the baby in my tummy has quite a personality, just like you, Simon. But I’m feeling really drained. I miss you..."
The woman spoke in a slow, honeyed tone, acting coy as naturally as breathing, unreservedly putting her need for him on display. No man would be able to resist.
Listening to another woman—who was carrying his child—whining to him for affection...
Zoe’s eyes stung. She looked up at the sky. Despite the bright, sunny day, she felt chilled to the bone. Prying his large hand off her waist, she stood up silently.
Simon watched her movements, his cold eyes devoid of any fluctuation. It didn’t stop him from speaking to Peyton with a good-tempered tone. "Has the doctor taken a look? I have some matters to attend to and can’t go back just yet."
He didn’t even mention that he was with his own wife. Was he afraid of affecting Peyton’s mood? Was she, Zoe, the one who had to be hidden away in shame?
Peyton still refused to hang up. "Simon, I was tossing and turning all night without any sleep. Will you coax me to sleep? I want to hear your voice."
Zoe’s footsteps faltered. She let out a self-deprecating laugh. Then, she went to pick up her phone, which he had smashed to pieces earlier.
When she turned back around, her expression had reverted to a lifeless guise. She stood right in front of him, disregarding whether he was still on the phone with Peyton.
"I want you to hang up this call right now, Simon..." Her tone was whisper-light. Bathed in the soft lighting, her pale face looked unbelievably fragile. Yet, this was the first and only time she had ever acted willful in front of him. "Can you, just for once, choose me first?"
She wanted to tell him everything. She didn’t want Peyton interfering, didn’t want to hear Peyton’s voice, and she definitely didn’t want someone else stealing the credit for what she had done.
Simon slowly raised his eyes.
He quietly scrutinized the woman standing before him. She was still gripping that phone of hers like a treasure. Not long ago, she had been on a call with Miles Yates, and the two of them had spoken with such utmost intimacy that they might as well have announced to the world how extraordinary their relationship was.
His cool, dark pupils didn’t betray a sliver of warmth. Watching her soften her tone, his fingertips curled uncontrollably. Maintaining his aloof, aristocratic posture, he neither spoke nor hung up the phone.
Peyton had heard her voice as well. After a brief silence, she spoke up softly, "Zoe? So you’re with Simon... Do you two have something important to discuss? Am I interrupting you?"
"It’s not important. You’re not interrupting."
Simon’s voice sounded as if it had been soaked in an icy spring. He maintained his faint, steady gaze on Zoe.
Yet it was so... utterly heartless.
He didn’t care about her feelings. It was just like the past; nothing had changed. His first priority would never be her. Even though she had finally mustered the courage to ask him to hang up the phone, he completely disregarded her plea.
A sharp, humiliating pain surged into her heart.
Zoe blinked. The sun felt glaringly harsh, burning her eyes so fiercely that she was on the verge of tears.