After class, the first thing Cynthia did was rush home to grab that bag of his stuff, just so she wouldn't forget again. Since he hadn't come to pick it up, she figured she'd take this chance to bring it over to him herself.
It was late May, nearly June, and the weather was warming up. The broad road was lined with lush greenery, and as she strolled leisurely, she enjoyed the peacefulness of this quiet moment.
No wonder the wealthy chose to build private villas by the sea or in secluded suburbs; this kind of calm, far from the bustle of the city, was truly enchanting.
A car horn sounded behind her. She turned to see his car had already pulled up beside her. He had brought a different car today—a black Maybach, understated but exuding a subtle sharpness.
He rolled down the window, gesturing for her to get in. Perhaps to match today's car, he was dressed all in black, giving off a cool, distant aura, as if even the hot sun overhead had dimmed a few degrees.
