Out of the corner of her eye, Grace Quinn glanced at the man beside her. He had already straightened his clothes. His left hand rested casually on the armrest, an expensive watch glinting beneath his cuff.
He looked refined. Composed. Like the kind of man who had never once lost control.
But she knew better now.
Her face burned. She had no idea how to respond. In the end, she just lifted a hand, quietly retying her strap.
She didn't trust him. Not one bit. He had already proved he was capable of playing dangerous games. Instinctively, she pressed herself against the car door, trying to put space between them.
Neither of them spoke.
The only voices came from the front seats. George and Kathy were chatting away, completely lost in their own world.
Some women spend their whole lives waiting for their husbands to grow up. But most men never really do. They age, sure. But they stay the same—selfish, reckless, and immature.
