Fear, anxiety, and the contradictory desire for escape intertwined in Clarissa Morgan’s heart.
She hoped that all she had suffered would also be tasted by Audrey Sutton. She wanted to take the previous opportunity to give Audrey Sutton to Nolan Hawke, using Audrey Sutton to exchange for her own freedom.
She hated herself for hesitating that day and missing such an opportunity.
Originally, she thought she could wait until the next ti the tiger dozed off to make her move on Audrey Sutton, but now it seed she might not endure until then.
Now, just thinking of Nolan Hawke filled her with disgust, she felt nauseated, and she didn’t want to be manipulated by him for even another mont...
Since she escaped unscathed after hitting soone last ti, she imagined Quentin Sterling would still help her if it happened again.
Before Quentin Sterling divorced her, she intended to deal with Nolan Hawke, then use Quentin’s connections to handle the situation...
This seed like a surefire plan.
She feared that if she dragged it out, she’d fail to capture Audrey Sutton, and Quentin Sterling might divorce her, leaving her with even fewer options against Nolan Hawke.
With these thoughts, Clarissa Morgan took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she picked up the phone from her bag.
She glanced around the car, front and back, no one passing by.
She dialed Nolan Hawke’s number, the prolonged ’beep’ on the phone making her heart race faster with each sound.
"What’s up? Miss already after just leaving?"
Hearing Nolan Hawke’s voice on the other end, Clarissa Morgan took a deep breath, suppressing her internal panic and anxiety, pretending to be calm as she said, "... You left sothing in my car."
Nolan Hawke: "What did I leave?"
Clarissa Morgan: "... A jacket, it’s on the back seat."
Nolan Hawke: "Leave it in your car then. Just bring it up to this evening."
Clarissa Morgan: "I have to head back later. If my husband finds out, it’ll be hard for to explain."
Nolan Hawke laughed: "Then bring it up to . I’ll wait for you at the elevator door."
As he spoke, there was the "ding" sound of the elevator doors opening on the phone, indicating he had already reached his floor.
Clarissa Morgan pursed her lips, hesitated, and said, "... My knees hurt from kneeling on the ground just now, and they’re scraped. I rember having a long dress at your place. Can you bring it down for , please?"
Hearing Clarissa Morgan’s sowhat pleading yet polite tone, Nolan Hawke found it unusual but assud it was his effective influence changing her deanor.
He continued on the phone, unlocking the door to his house, saying, "Why not co up to change here?"
Clarissa Morgan: "My feet hurt, I don’t want to walk. Please bring it down for . I’ll change in the car, hurry up, I need to go back soon."
Nolan Hawke thought that her reluctance to co up was due to fear of what he might do if she entered his ho, assuming she was simply afraid of him.
Noting her change of attitude, Nolan Hawke conceded, agreeing, "Alright, wait there. I’ll find your dress."
Clarissa Morgan took a deep breath, shakily putting down the phone.
She slightly adjusted the car’s position, angling herself for an easier collision with Nolan Hawke later.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, foot poised over the accelerator, eyes focused intently on the entrance of the apartnt building.
Outside the car window, a teenage boy wearing headphones and holding an umbrella walked by, eyes on his phone.
Clarissa Morgan’s gaze followed the boy until he disappeared at a nearby intersection, then she refocused on the building entrance.
Not far away, a seemingly inconspicuous van was parked by the roadside, engine off, with Quentin Sterling seated inside, eyes fixed on the white sedan ahead.
He assud Clarissa Morgan hadn’t left because she was waiting for Nolan Hawke to retrieve sothing, thinking they might head elsewhere together.
His heart was anything but calm, swirling with uncertainty and conflicting emotions.
Watching the woman he loved colluding secretly with another man, he found himself lacking the courage to confront and question her.
Even resorting to self-deception, he told himself she had her reasons, unwilling to believe that their marriage was nearing its end.
As Quentin Sterling was lost in thought, a loud roar of an engine startled him out of his daze.
Focusing ahead, he saw the white sedan speed towards the man who had just stepped out of the building entrance.
It was all so sudden, and Nolan Hawke was caught entirely off-guard, instinctively dodging to the side as the car charged toward him.
Yet the car moved so swiftly that despite his quick reflexes, he couldn’t avoid the collision...
Quentin Sterling’s eyes widened as he witnessed the scene, the red liquid mingling with the rainwater on the ground.
Nolan Hawke, with his legs crushed, desperately pleaded for rcy, while the white sedan seed to lose control, reversing quickly to run over him again...
The commotion drew onlookers, though no one had witnessed the incident firsthand.
When the first eyewitness exclaid, Nolan Hawke was already left unrecognizable on the ground, motionless.
Clarissa Morgan shakily opened the car door and stumbled out, collapsing to the ground.
Half of her reaction was genuine, the other half an act.
The rain poured down harder, and Quentin Sterling sat in his car, watching the crowd encircle the scene. He was too shocked to decide whether to show himself...
Ambulances and police cars arrived in succession. Nolan Hawke’s grueso injuries made it clear there was no hope for recovery.
The police questioned Clarissa Morgan, who deliberately appeared disoriented and shock-stricken, failing to clearly explain anything.
The crowd murmured among themselves, soone saying, "How could this happen in a residential area? The speed here shouldn’t be that fast."
"I don’t know. When I heard a loud noise from upstairs and looked out, the person was already on the ground. It’s terrifying."
"I told you won drivers are unreliable. You panic when sothing happens, clearly mistaking the accelerator for the brake."
"What’s wrong with won drivers? Haven’t n ever caused accidents? Always quick to bla wrongly."
"Does anyone know who the victim is?"
"With the head crushed like that, who could recognize him?"
"So tragic, looks like he was quite young."
...
As the crowd dispersed with the departure of the ambulance and police, no one realized the disheveled woman in the rain was Clarissa Morgan.
The ballet circle may be small, and artists highly regarded, but her na isn’t as recognizable as that of a popular star, leaving the public unable to identify her.
At this mont, Clarissa Morgan hoped no one knew her.
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