After paying, Gregory took the two large bags himself. Dexter tried to help, but Gregory turned him down.
Placing the bags in the trunk, Gregory grabbed Anathea’s hand, ready to get into the car.
“Mr. Sinclair!” someone called.
Anathea turned toward the voice and saw a middle–aged man in wern–out clothes stumbling toward them.
But before he could get close, Dexter stopped him. “Who are you?
“Mr. Sinclair, I’m the person in charge of the project from Rowan Croup! Your company signed a contract with us before!” said Michael Rowan.
“Rowan Group?” Gregory stepped forward and shielded Anathea behind him.
He thought for a moment and did recall such a company, but his tone remained flat. “As far as I remember, Rowan Group failed to deliver on time, so I terminated the contract. What are you doing here?”
Hearing that, Michael became more agitated. “Please give us one more day, Mr. Sinclair! Just one more day! We can deliver everything then! Please, Mr. Sinclair! Our company is already drowning in debt. We’ve run out of capital. If you pull out now, we’re done for!”
Michael dropped to his knees in front of Gregory, tears streaming down his face.
“My son has a congenital illness and is hospitalized. The surgery costs a fortune. My wife is emotionally exhausted. She threatens to commit suicide every day. If we can’t raise the money, we really won’t be able to go on.”
Anathea looked at Michael, who was on the ground begging. He was over 50 years old, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of
emotion.
Anyone faced with that would probably feel a shred of compassion, wouldn’t they?
She looked at Gregory, only to see him completely expressionless. Even his voice was devoid of emotion.
“That’s your problem. The delivery date was stated in the contract. A delay is a breach of the terms. I’ve shown you enough mercy by not suing you for damages. As for the project, since you can’t do it, plenty of others can,” he stated firmly.
Anathea froze.
The faint hope in Michael’s eyes vanished as he slumped to the ground, the light in his gaze dimming. Gregory didn’t spare him another glance as he grabbed Anathea’s hand, ready to get into the car.
Suddenly, Michael scrambled up. “Mr. Sinclair, I’m begging you!”
In his panic, he reached out toward Anathea, but before he could touch her, Gregory grabbed his wrist.
“What are you doing?” Gregory’s tone turned icy as he tightened his grip on Michael’s wrist.
Michael shook his head frantically. “I–I didn’t mean anything by-
Before he could finish, a loud crack rang out–Gregory had snapped Michael’s wrist.
“Ahh!” Michael’s scream echoed in Anathea’s ears.
She jumped in fright. Before she could react, Gregory wrapped an arm around her shoulders and helped her into the car.
As the car drove past Michael, Anathea caught a glimpse of him through the corner of her eye. He was clutching his injured wrist and lying on the ground in agony.
She silently looked away and lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting together loosely on her lap.
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+25 BONUS
Gregory’s recent gentleness and attempts to please her had almost made her forget that he was also known as the Frost King
Warmth and kindness were just fleeting whims for him; coldness and cruelty were his default state.
Yet, she was actually planning to negotiate with a man as unfathomable and moody as him. It was no different from inviting death itself.
But Giselle’s words still echoed in her ears.
“Annie,” Gregory uttered coldly, breaking Anathea’s train of thought.
Snapping back to reality, she looked at Gregory.
He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but before he could touch her, Anathea instinctively leaned back.
This was a silent rejection.
Gregory’s hand froze.
Anathea blinked. As she met his darkening gaze, she instantly tensed up.
He was staring hard at her. “Anathea.”
The car entered a tunnel under the bridge. Under the dim lighting, his face became hard to read. He radiated coldness, giving off a distant vibe.
“Are you still afraid of me?”
