The night was as dark as if a bottle of ink had been spilled across the entire sky. A black SUV sat under the dim glow of a streetlamp, where Marco Griffin and Chandler Hunter leaned against it, quietly smoking. Wisps of smoke circled Marco as he tilted his head back, recalling Gwendolyn Morris's composed expression when she said, "He's not my boyfriend; it was just a misunderstanding." Her face was calm, showing no sign of extra emotion.
Marco took a drag of his cigarette, his gaze growing more intense, like a poker player assessing his hand, considering whether to up the ante. Chandler nudged him on the shoulder, drawing Marco's attention to a shabby apartment complex nearby. Chandler smirked mischievously, "Off to rescue the damsel in distress, are we?" he teased. Then, with a smirk, he added, "But seriously, I couldn't get a good look at her last night—it was pitch black. Aren't you giving her a lift to work tomorrow? Let me come along. I want to see if she's the kind of beauty who got you to drop your usual disdain for people."
Marco exhaled smoke, glancing at Chandler. "You've got too much free time," he retorted. "And who said I was into her?"
The next morning, Marco's car arrived promptly at the entrance of the old apartment complex. Besides Marco and Boone Williams, Chandler was also in the car. He hadn't caught a clear glimpse of Gwendolyn the night before while waiting outside the hospital. Now, he stood beside the car, eyes glued to the entrance.
About five or six minutes later, Gwendolyn emerged from the complex. Chandler watched her walk, noting that her foot seemed fine after just one night. He wondered if she might be faking her injury to exploit his friend.
He quickly leaned down and tapped on the car window. It rolled down to reveal Marco's sharp features. "What's up?" Marco asked.
Chandler nodded toward Gwendolyn and whispered, "Look, her foot's fine. She's playing you."
Marco swung the car door open and stepped out. His eyes fixed on Gwendolyn, who was still wearing the black coat from the night before. Her walk seemed normal, but a closer look showed she moved carefully, glancing at her foot every few steps. Marco pulled out his phone and made a call, "I need some information on a woman named Gwendolyn Morris…" He ended the call just as Gwendolyn approached. Seeing Marco, she remained unfazed and simply said, "Didn't I tell you I didn't need a lift?"
Marco, ever the gentleman, opened the car door with a smile, "I always finish what I start. Hop in."
Gwendolyn climbed into the car while Chandler stood nearby, lost in thought.
"What are you thinking about?" Marco's voice snapped Chandler back to reality.
He pulled Marco aside and urgently whispered, "It was too dim last night, but she looked familiar. Now I remember—I saw her at the police station, and she’s linked to a homicide case. Marco, what's up with you? Didn't you check her background first?"
Marco studied Chandler as sunlight softly bathed him, giving him an ethereal glow. Marco smiled nonchalantly, a hint of predatory curiosity in his eyes, "Are you saying she’s killed someone?"
Chandler recognized the gleam in Marco's eyes—the thrill of a new challenge. His warning had backfired. With a resigned wave, he said, "I should never have told you this."
A madman, Chandler called him. Marco laughed quietly. If being a madman in a dull world was his destiny, he would embrace it, especially now that he had found someone intriguing.
"Fascinating," he murmured, licking his lips. "Utterly fascinating."
Gwendolyn Morris turned out to be more captivating than he'd imagined. The thought of what might lie beneath her composed exterior thrilled him to his core.
He reopened the car door and joined Gwendolyn in the back seat, resuming his gentlemanly demeanor. "Miss Morris, are you heading straight to work, or would you like to stop by the hospital to see your boyfriend?"
Earlier that morning, Gwendolyn had video-called Joey Davis, who reassured her that his injury was minor and didn't require a hospital stay. However, Marco had arranged for him to have a VIP room and a personal nurse. Joey had been impressed, telling Gwendolyn, "Gwen, people like Mr. Griffin are different—they're thoughtful and not bothered by expenses. I think he's a good guy."
Gwendolyn nodded, "As long as you're okay. I'll bring lunch later."
"No need, you should rest your foot. I made a lot yesterday. Take a few days off and relax. Don’t worry; the nurse is here to help me."
Gwendolyn couldn't afford to take time off. Even though she lived with Joey, she never considered his earnings hers. When Joey initially suggested she manage their finances, she had flatly refused.
Joey had been upset then, sulking all night until Gwendolyn noticed his puffy eyes the next morning. She realized he'd cried quietly, touched yet amused by his reaction. It was such a minor issue, but he had wept like a child.
Joey had embraced her from behind, asking, "Gwen, don't you see me as your partner? If you did, wouldn't you plan our future together?"
Her response was pragmatic: "You forget—if they find me, is my money really mine? Keeping your money with you is the safest option."
The black SUV pulled up at the pharmacy. Gwendolyn turned to Marco, as polite as ever, "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Griffin. I'll head off now."
Marco met her gaze warmly, his reply equally gentle, "No need to thank me. It was my pleasure."
Gwendolyn noticed something different about Marco this morning. His eyes were still kind, and his words courteous as ever, yet there was an underlying intensity she couldn't quite place.
As she climbed out and shut the door, the warmth in Marco's eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. Through the glass, he watched her slender figure, studying her as though she were prey. When Gwendolyn hesitated on the sidewalk, Marco exited the vehicle.
"Miss Morris," he called out, his voice crisp in the fresh morning air. Gwendolyn turned to face him as he approached, maintaining a respectful distance.
"For future reference, may I have your number for WhatsApp?" he suggested.
Gwendolyn provided a series of digits—her phone number. Marco carefully entered it into his phone and searched for her profile, then showed it to her with a smile, "Is this you?"
She nodded, "Yes, that's correct."
He sent a friend request, then grinned, "Don’t forget to accept it."
Gwendolyn agreed, "Alright."
As she started to leave, Marco called out again, "Gwen."
She glanced back, surprised by the informal address. Marco offered a casual smile, "It's a beautiful name. Makes me think of wind and jasmine. Let's use it between us; calling you Miss Morris seems too formal now that we've crossed paths."
