He could obviously tell the two were undeniably fighting. Simon Hawthorne wasn’t the type to bicker with women; if he was actually going out of his way to make things difficult, whatever issue lay between them had to be significant.
He was just the unlucky collateral damage, dragged into their crossfire.
Then again, Sean Sheffield could never bear to break a beautiful woman’s heart. Even if Simon flayed him alive for it later, he had to accept this drink to save her face.
Simon didn’t respond to the provocation. Instead, his eyes—as cold as if they had been submerged in ice water—fixed intensely on Zoe Lancaster’s back. The piercing glare was terrifying.
Zoe seemed completely oblivious. She poured herself another glass and offered Sheffield a second toast. "I’ve heard many great things about you, Sheffield. A dual-degree graduate from Cambridge, an internationally awarded race car driver, founder of a top-tier racing club, and owner of one of the country’s top five entertainment agencies. Whether it’s your main career or your side ventures, you thrive in everything you do. It’s truly admirable. Since we’re officially meeting today, I’d like to offer you another toast."
Sean smirked at the initial praise—a gorgeous woman’s admiration was always flattering, of course. But the rest of it... How was he worthy of such an honor? Having Simon Hawthorne’s wife personally offer him not just one, but two consecutive toasts? Wasn’t this a direct slap to Simon’s face?
Despite a twinge of apprehension, the smirk on Sean’s lips only grew. He was absolutely thrilled to see the typically infallible Simon taken down a peg!
"To know so much about me, you must truly admire me," Sean said, raising his glass to clink against Zoe’s. His tone carried a deliberate edge of provocation aimed at the man beside them. "It seems that in this lady’s eyes, I’m far more charismatic than the alternatives."
Zoe didn’t respond to the remark. Instead, she tipped her head back and downed the liquor in one go. The harsh burn of the alcohol instantly brought a captivating flush to her cheeks. They were drinking hard liquor, a far cry from the light, sweet cocktails she usually sipped, and the potency was already hitting her. She swayed slightly on her feet.
Sean instinctively reached out a hand to steady her.
The onlookers were completely baffled by the unfolding scene. Was she involved with Mr. Hawthorne, or was she actually here for Sheffield?
A few of the guests, already drunk enough to lose their sense of judgment, foolishly chimed in with raised glasses.
"Looks like this gorgeous lady is here exclusively for Sheffield!"
"So it was just a misunderstanding on our part. We all thought she was Mr. Hawthorne’s new sweetheart."
"Sheffield, since the beauty is toasting you so enthusiastically, why not just—"
"Take her under your wing!"
Laughter erupted from the bystanders. In their social circles, such banter was commonplace. Someone else agreed, "Yeah, you can’t go breaking a beautiful woman’s heart!"
Now, Sean was genuinely starting to panic. He could vividly feel the terrifying, bone-chilling aura radiating from the man beside him—a freezing pressure that felt ready to slice him to ribbons right then and there. A husband and wife were having a lovers’ quarrel. How did he end up as the casualty?
Zoe’s vision blurred slightly as the crude jokes washed over her. The alcohol had hit her fast and hard. Though her mind remained surprisingly clear, her body was growing sluggish and disobedient. Out of necessity, she reached out and briefly steadied herself against Sean’s extended arm.
But in the very next second, her entire world spun wildly.
Someone swept her off her feet from behind, lifting her into a firm bridal carry. The sudden movement sent a chorus of gasps and startled cries rippling through the private room.
By the time Zoe regained her bearings, she was already firmly trapped in Simon’s embrace. She looked up at his sharp jawline and his pale, tightly pursed lips. A suffocating, terrifying chill radiated from him, instantly freezing the room into dead silence; not a single person dared to utter another word.
With a hidden sigh of relief, she let herself lean into his chest, entirely enveloped by his faint, signature scent of agarwood. The tautly wound string in her heart finally snapped slack. Her risky tactic had actually worked.
Simon carried her out with a dark, thunderous expression. No one dared to breathe a word of protest.
It wasn’t until he had completely disappeared with Zoe that Linden stepped forward for damage control. "Please, everyone, continue enjoying your drinks. Mr. Hawthorne simply has some urgent business to discuss with the young lady. Don’t let it interrupt your evening."
That was the polite excuse, anyway. As for what urgent business they were going to discuss... wasn’t it blatantly obvious to everyone in the room?
Still, no one had expected the notoriously aloof and celibate Simon Hawthorne to ever show this kind of possessiveness. Just who was that woman? What kind of background did she have to make the great Mr. Hawthorne bend the knee?
Yet, despite the burning curiosity consuming the room, no one actually dared to dig into Simon’s private affairs. After all, none of them had a death wish.
Sean lazily swirled the liquor in his glass, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully at the empty doorway. A faint smirk played on his lips. Fine. He would just have to accept his role as a pawn in their little marital roleplay.
However, it was quite the revelation. His good friend Simon seemed to possess a rather intriguing amount of care for this so-called auspicious proxy bride.
Zoe’s head was spinning violently. She curled up in Simon’s arms, trying to let the dizziness pass. His grip around her was incredibly steady—without a single jolt or slip, he carried her all the way down from the third floor and across the long distance to the parking lot. He deposited her into the back of the car.
As the door slammed shut, the biting cold wind and the chaotic noise of the outside world were instantly sealed away. The backseat of the ultra-luxury Maybach 62S was exceptionally spacious; even a man with long legs like Simon could stretch out completely. Yet, despite the expansive interior, Zoe felt a suffocating, claustrophobic pressure crushing down on her.
It was the palpable, invisible fury radiating from the man sitting beside her.
Linden had closely followed them out. He quickly opened the front door and hopped into the driver’s seat. Glancing back at his boss, he considerately asked, "Mr. Hawthorne, should I raise the privacy partition?"
Simon, who was in the middle of unfastening his cufflinks, lifted his dark eyes. "Why did you get in the car?"
Linden blinked. "Huh?"
"Get out."
Speechless, Linden realized his mistake. Having just sat down, he dutifully reached over to raise the privacy partition before awkwardly shuffling back out of the vehicle like the ultimate, compliant scapegoat. He stood guard a respectable distance away, unable to stop himself from looking up and sighing at the night sky. He shouldn’t be in the car. He belonged under the car. If only that deadpan Shane Shaw were here; at least then he’d have someone to bicker with to pass the time.
Inside the car, completely isolated from the rest of the world, Zoe’s throat still burned with the fire of the hard liquor. She shrank back into the plush leather seat, her watery, doe-like eyes fixed on Simon. His brow was deeply furrowed. As he finished undoing his cufflinks, he seemed to shed his refined, gentlemanly persona, unleashing something entirely different—something dangerous and lethal.
A sudden wave of delayed fear washed over her. Forcing down her panic, she spoke in a soft, trembling voice. "I have an aunt... I mentioned her to you before we got married. Her husband is a gambling addict and owes a massive debt. The casino thugs forcibly took their daughter as collateral, and they can’t go to the police. I need to get her out. Can you please help me? She’s only a child."
"Help you?" Simon suddenly leaned over. The web of his hand clamped firmly around Zoe’s jaw. His dark eyes were bottomless pools of obsidian. "What reason do I have to do that?"
Forced to tilt her head up, Zoe met his intense gaze. She bit her lower lip and enunciated every word. "I will give you whatever you want."
She was completely out of options. Aside from Simon, she had no other lifeline.
The implication in her offer was blatantly obvious. Simon’s eyes only grew colder. Zoe felt the grip on her jaw tighten painfully, his fingers already leaving pale indentations against her delicate skin.
"It seems you really do view your legal husband as nothing more than a sugar daddy. When you need a favor, you offer your body as a bargaining chip, yet when everything is fine, you can’t wait to stay as far away from me as possible. Zoe Lancaster..." He dragged her closer, his frigid tone laced with an unnameable fury. "What exactly do you take me for? And what do you take yourself for?"
A sharp ache pierced Zoe’s chest. The pain wound tightly around her throat like a wire, nearly suffocating her. She stared back into his eyes. "You’re unwilling to help, aren’t you? If you won’t do it, then I’ll just—"
Her lips were suddenly captured in a brutal, urgent kiss.
Before she could react, he yanked her forward, hauling her onto his lap. Her heavy coat slipped to the floorboard. Several buttons on her blouse popped off as her bra was ruthlessly shoved upward. His large, dry hands captured her soft curves, kneading with a punishing, unrestrained force.
The overwhelming surge of intense stimulation mixed with a sharp jolt of pain, forcing a sudden gasp from Zoe’s lips.