Seeing Yvonne Finley come out, a nervous Dax opened the car door for her and helped her load her luggage. Spotting a black men's jacket tied to the suitcase handle, she scratched her head in confusion. Afraid of getting it dirty, she untied it, tossed it in the car too, then handed it over to Yvonne in the back seat.
"Sister Yvonne, what happened?"
The young woman was scared, her face deathly pale. It didn't even occur to her to ask whose the jacket belonged to.
Yvonne didn't seem too affected. She just felt tired and her hands and feet were icy cold. Chelsea was entering early winter, colder and more humid than ever.
She sat in the seat, huddled into a ball, the lower half of her face hidden in the collar of her camel-colored wool coat. She glanced at the black jacket.
She simply threw it over her legs for warmth.
"A person who bought my painting was murdered. So they asked me a few questions."
"Just because they bought a painting, they treated you like a suspect…" Jane murmured, her expression finally easing a bit. "There shouldn't be any more problems now. Such bad luck to get involved in this kind of thing."
Yvonne sunk into silence.
Her spirits sagged.
As she raised the jacket, something caught her eye in the pocket.
She hesitated for a couple of seconds.
Slowly, she slipped her thumb and forefinger into the pocket, pulling out whatever was inside.
It was a sky-blue sticky note.
It was folded.
Yvonne nonchalantly unfolded it to read it.
She froze.
The next second, she sat up straight.
She was in shock, but even more so, she finds it ridiculous.
There was a line of characters on the sticky note.
The words were bold, the strokes were sharp, full of energy and rebelliousness. It was not hard to guess that the writer had a wild and nonconformist personality.
And that line was...
"Stop trying, I'm hard to get - No.22"
Yvonne Finley: "......"
Open declaration, execution.
Young man.
So audacious.
If you just read that line.
The image of the savior who rescued her, along with the professional rescuer's lens, now bears irreparable cracks. In their place is a fierce, proud, untamed gangster.
She had thought her confession, made in a moment of weakness, would fade away in the isolated highlands.
Poor her not being able to feel relief for long.
Just as she has forgotten about him, he delivers a heavy blow.
After all, she just couldn't escape a brutal rejection.
"......"
"Sister Yvonne?" Jane looked back at her, curiosity peeping towards the sticky note in her hand. "What are you looking at?"
Yvonne quickly crumpled the note in her hand, making a rustling sound. She stuffed it into her pocket and tossed the jacket to the seat next to her, discontentedly.
"Nonsense."
"Huh?"
"Let's get going."
Yvonne sighed dismissively, burying the embarrassing incident: "Any job applications in the last few days?"
Jane expertly started the car, "Yeah, quite a lot. Brother Justin is filtering through them. But it's not easy to find someone who is proficient in at least two foreign languages."
After all, just a temporary secretary assistant, with such high requirements.
Who from a first-tier university would apply for such a secretarial job?
"Filter well, it's best to have certification for tour guiding, proficiency in Mandarin is a must." Yvonne coughed quietly a couple of times, her gaze shifted outside the car. Her breath was unsteady, hinting at an unnoticeable panting.
Through the rear mirror, Jane watched her, then quickly fetched a bottle of medicine from the storage compartment and handed it to her.
"Sister Yvonne, did you have any asthma attacks while in Sioux?"
Yvonne took it, poured out two pills, and tossed them directly into her mouth.
"No."
"No doubt today's tight security of yours certainly has inflicted stress and given you a fright, try getting some rest to ease your nerves,"
"Alright."
Yvonne Finley had a racing heart and trembling hands, her slightly rapid breathing especially evident in the tight interior of their car.
She suffers from hyperventilation syndrome.
Somewhat serious, it would strike at unpredictable times.
Whenever it hits, she'll experience difficulty breathing, feelings of suffocation, palpitations, nagging severe headaches, dizziness, and cognitive impairments. Not a huge deal but also not to be underestimated. The condition has been plaguing her for many years and is incurable.
And when she gets emotional, the symptoms would show.
She always has some nerve sedatives and tranquilizers at hand. There are no special treatments, she can only try her best to remain calm.
She drifted into a light sleep in her seat.
It was restless sleep.
Her ear was filled with the oppressive noise of honking, bustle, and chaos.
Yvonne Finley woke up, her head throbbing majorly.
"What happened?" she asked hoarsely.
Jane angrily honked the car horn.
"The road ahead has been cordoned off, no idea what's happening. A bunch of gawkers blocked the road and unfortunately, we're stopped at the zebra crossing. We're just waiting to be fined at this point,"
Yvonne Finley peered outside through the car window.
And indeed.
This place was the main commercial street and despite it being past 10 o'clock, the human traffic was considerable. When a rush happens in one area, it also brings chaos to the cars.
Their car was awkwardly stuck on the zebra crossing at a road junction and turned off abruptly.
"…Let's see if there's a way around this."
Yvonne Finley's voice suddenly faded, her eyes shifted towards the right.
She noticed a pedestrian standing by the right car door.
A man.
Yvonne Finley squinted her eyes.
The man was quite tall and from the view from car's inside, she could only see his slender neck and striking Adam's apple.
—It was big.
For some unknown reason, her eyes were captivated by that sexy Adam's apple for a few seconds. Her voice floated lightly as she instructed Jane,
"Jane, we should back up a bit and from the side…"
Before she could finish speaking.
Bang—
The man outside moved suddenly, took a step forward, placed a hand on the front of the car, and with ease, jumped on to the hood of the car, took a couple of nonchalant steps on the roof, crossed over the other side, and then jumped down.
He slightly bent his tall legs before standing up straight, put his hand in his pocket, with a calm and composed look, and continued walking towards a convenience store on the opposite side without looking back.
The whole process was executed smoothly.
—It was also incredibly bizarre.
Yvonne Finley: "…?"
Jane: "..."
Two seconds later after recovering from the shock, Yvonne Finley traced the figure through the car window with her gaze.
He was in a simple black shirt and trousers, very tall, and lean yet upright. He was slightly looking down, walking through the crowd, and there was a wilful and individualistic presence emanating from him. Even though it was only a vague figure walking away, it had a very striking aura. His demeanour was too distracting and impossible to ignore.
"That man...he walked over us, using our car roof?"
Jane still struggled to find her voice after quite some time.
Yvonne Finley could not help but frown.
"We stopped our car at the zebra crossing, so we were in the wrong first."
"That doesn't mean he can just step over other people's cars! And besides, we only stopped because of the people crowding the zebra crossing. What would it cost him to take a detour?" Jane was still feeling outraged.
Yvonne Finley watched that figure walk into the convenience store. After a while, she took a breath, opened the car door and got out.
Only then did she realize why there was a traffic jam.
The police had set up a cordon in front, keeping the crowd at bay.
And this place, it was the Eastern District, Luwail Building.