Shabby old clothes almost equivalent to rags, jawline scattered with overstayed and bumpy stubble, bony face features highlighted by neglect, chapped lips from excessive smoking… if there was any indication left that he was Nolan, it was the evidences of his usual indulgences.
Now that she looked at him, she could not help getting sick to her stomach, there had been a time in her life where she was head over heels for the excuse of a man who now stood hopelessly before her.
"Two options, Stella," his words roused her back to the present moment.
Unlike when she first noticed him, her adrenaline level had lowered just enough to let her think of a way out. However, the moment he mentioned those words, her focus faltered.
She locked her fierce but utterly panicked gaze with his, relaxed and calculating.
"Give me the money or I kill you."
