CHAPTER 23: CHAPTER 23: OVERBEARING POSSESSIVENESS

Rhys Hawthorne’s hand noticeably paused.

Then, in a faint voice, he said, "I’ll be gentle."

Victoria Monroe had hardly interacted with other men over the past few years, finding it hard to change her spoiled demeanor around Julian Fordham.

The wound had torn and was now twice as large as the initial glass cut.

All ten fingers are connected to the heart, and the pain in the palm was unbearable.

Caught off guard, she cried out, immediately feeling it was inappropriate, biting her lip afterward to prevent any sound from escaping.

Rhys Hawthorne looked up and caught a glimpse of the suppressed pain lingering in her eyes, misty with tears.

Victoria’s stubborn yet fragile demeanor resembled a pet cat who had lost a fight, proud and pitiable.

"You can actually cry out."

His voice was lazy, with a hint of nonchalance, completely lacking in aggression.

Yet, when those dark eyes rested on her red lips, a hidden undercurrent of strong possessiveness swirled within.

Such a gaze stirred a strange feeling in Victoria, as if she were prey being quietly ensnared in his trap, inch by inch, consumed completely.

Her back erupted in tiny beads of sweat due to his words, and she scrutinized his eyes again, finding them returned to their usual cold, compassionate look.

Devoid of any emotion, any further speculation on her part would be an affront to him.

Perhaps she had misunderstood.

A man like him, having such intense feelings?

It was just a sentence, why overinterpret it?

Rhys Hawthorne didn’t simply patch it up with a band-aid; he patiently and meticulously applied the medicine and bandaged it carefully with gauze, preventing further injury and secondary damage.

"Thanks." Victoria swiftly withdrew her hand as soon as the medicine was applied, creating a distance between them.

She subtly changed the subject, "About the lawyer..."

"I’ll get in touch."

The words made her tightly furrowed brows relax; she just opened her mouth to thank him when the man’s lazy voice interrupted, "You can thank me when it’s done. Rest a bit; I’ll go make the contact."

Victoria sat at the edge of the sofa, thinking about her earlier embarrassing moment of accidentally falling asleep; this time, she sat perfectly straight, not moving an inch.

When Rhys Hawthorne returned, he saw her like a well-behaved student, maintaining that posture for quite a while.

Perhaps having grown impatient from waiting, or perhaps feeling awkward.

She bowed her head, playing with her fingers, looking very obedient.

"Contact is done."

His footsteps were all but silent on the carpet, and the sudden voice at her ear startled Victoria Monroe.

It made her shiver slightly, then she raised her head to look at him, cautiously testing the waters, "What did he say?"

"He accepted."

Accepted? Who did he find?

Victoria, somewhat anxious, licked her lips, although knowing Rhys Hawthorne was reliable, he managed to set up the divorce case that no lawyer dared touch within minutes.

Victoria still found it hard to believe, "Did you tell him about my situation? Does he know it’s Julian Fordham?"

Rhys Hawthorne handed her a cup of warm water, placing it in her palm, "I gave a general idea, but you’ll need to discuss specifics in person. Don’t worry, whatever you need, he will ensure you get. He’ll be coming over from Portoros, should arrive this afternoon."

So it was a lawyer from Portoros—this news relaxed Victoria as well, knowing Julian Fordham’s reach wasn’t quite that far yet.

She relaxed, taking a sip of water, "By the way, who is this lawyer?"

"His last name is Shaw."

Shaw?

Victoria wasn’t very familiar with Portoros but had an instinctive feeling that this Shaw wouldn’t be bad.

Taking this divorce case at a time like this was already a tremendous favor.

Victoria asked, "What time is his flight? I’ll go pick him up."

"Around after five."

"Perfect, I’ll arrange for dinner, tell Attorney Shaw about my situation."

Rhys Hawthorne fiddled with the prayer beads, "Alright."

Victoria booked a member-exclusive private kitchen, contemplating the meager balance in her card; it covered the meal but definitely not the wine, she’d bring her own wine from home.

"I sent you the address, see you tonight. I’ll head home first."

Rhys Hawthorne stood up, "I’ll take you."

"That’s not necessary, I..."

His calm gaze pinned her face with a strong sense of invasion, giving her no room to refuse, "Your hand needs to recover."

Perhaps sensing the overpowering aura, he softened a bit, "Besides, I have nothing else to do."

He picked up his coat and put it on effortlessly; Victoria had no grounds to refuse.

The words "thank you" she had grown tired of saying to him.

Yet since meeting him, she had continuously troubled him.

Rhys Hawthorne adjusted the driving position; his tall frame, long arms, and legs shifted the seat slightly backward.

Then he drove with one hand on the steering wheel, exuding stability in every movement.

No longer was there a hint of the youthful vibe from when she first met him four years ago.

"By the way, I remember you’re two years younger than me, right?"

"Yes." His Adam’s apple moved, giving no hint of emotion.

Back then, he had just turned twenty, appearing on set in the freezing winter dressed in a black coat.

His temperament was between youthful and mature, much like his role and himself.

Indifferent, cold, with a poker face.

Like a pine and bamboo in the snow, exuding an air of independence and detachment.

Any slight physical contact with anyone made his seemingly indifferent face remain calm, while rouge clouds spread to the back of his ears.

Perfectly embodying the contrasting appeal of the character in the drama, gaining a significant following.

Victoria knew that kind of shyness wasn’t something you could act; even though he maintained his facial expression well, deep down, he was still someone who blushed easily.

Pure and clean, like snow in the sky, frost on the trees.

Now, he exuded a sense of nobility and steadiness, no trace left of any nervous youthful awkwardness.

Victoria looked at the fleeting scenery outside the window and sighed, "Time flies."

It felt like shooting "Minister" was just yesterday, how has it been four years?

Lost in thought, the car had already reached her home.

Instinctively Victoria asked, "How did you know where I lived?"

The man lowered his head to unbuckle the seatbelt, "Assistant Woods told me."

Victoria thought nothing more of it and got out of the car; the man stood in the courtyard and glanced at the yard behind her.

In the field of vision were vast blooms of roses and various other flowers.

This marital home, worth just over twenty million, fell far behind his villa yet visibly exuded warmth and life.

There was a huge cherry blossom tree in the yard with a handmade wooden swing underneath, draped with a soft blanket.

One could imagine a sunny spring day, a certain young woman lounging barefoot on the swing, lazy like a cat.

A breezy, warm wind stirred, showering down cherry petals from the tree—a breathtaking scene.

Victoria noticed him gazing at the swing lost in thought, unsure what he was pondering.

She took the initiative to say, "Thank you for specifically bringing me home—would you like to come in for a glass of water?"

Though Victoria didn’t really want to invite Rhys Hawthorne inside at this critical juncture, much as she was inclined to divorce, the divorce papers were still missing.

Recently Julian Fordham had been acting rather erratically, and their relationship had already hit rock bottom.

If he were to see Rhys Hawthorne now, who knows what might ensue.

The man clearly saw the struggle in her eyes and spoke mildly, "It’s inconvenient."

Victoria blinked, grateful for his consideration, about to speak when he parted his lips, languidly saying, "Next time, when you’re divorced, I’ll gladly come in for a cup of tea."