"Hit him—hit the man on the moped."

...

For Gwendolyn Morris, the whole situation felt like a disaster. She had been resting her cheek against Joey Davis's back, eyelids heavy with drowsiness, when out of the blue, a car sped toward them.

They both went tumbling to the ground; Joey bore the brunt of the fall. The weight of the moped pinned him down, his face twisted in pain. Thankfully, their helmets minimized the risk of a head injury.

Gwendolyn scrambled to her feet, limping slightly as she attempted to lift the moped. Two individuals stepped out of the car that had hit them. One of them reached out a hand to help her, a firm and capable gesture. Above her, a gentle, familiar voice spoke.

"I'm really sorry, it's entirely our fault. Are you okay?"

Startled, Gwendolyn looked up to see Marco Griffin, his eyes filled with concern. His expression turned to surprise when he recognized her. "Miss Morris, is that you?"

Gwendolyn hadn’t expected Marco to be involved in the accident. Her rising anger had to be tamped down.

The driver helped Joey to his feet and bowed slightly in apology. "I'm truly sorry. I got distracted. This is all my fault."

Concerned and sincere, Marco instructed the driver, "Uncle Jake, Mr. Davis looks hurt. Take him to the hospital right away." Then, turning back to Gwendolyn with deeper remorse, he said, "Miss Morris, I noticed your ankle seems injured too. Why don’t you come to the hospital with us to get it checked out?"

Joey clutched his side, his eyes full of worry for Gwendolyn. "Gwen, let's go to the hospital."

Gwendolyn glanced at the moped parked awkwardly by the roadside. They had just bought it, and she was reluctant to leave it unattended, especially since it was in a no-parking zone.

Sensing her hesitation, Marco offered a solution. "How about this: Uncle Jake can take Mr. Davis to the hospital immediately since his injury seems worse. I can help you find a safe place to park the moped, and then we can head to the hospital together. Does that sound okay?"

She nodded, concern for Joey evident as she turned to him, gently squeezing his hand. "Go have them check your side. I'm fine—I dressed warmly."

Still worried, Joey said, "But your ankle..."

Indeed, her ankle was twisted, but it wasn’t serious. Gwendolyn smiled, shaking her head. "It’s nothing major. Go on. I’ll meet you after we park the moped."

In significant pain, Joey didn’t argue further. He allowed Uncle Jake to help him into the car.

As the sleek black vehicle merged into the nighttime traffic, Marco turned to the moped with an apologetic look. "I'm not sure if it's still rideable. Should I call for a tow?"

"No need for a tow," Gwendolyn replied, stepping forward to test if the moped could still start. Her twisted ankle, however, made her wince, and she stumbled.

Marco quickly reached out to steady her with his firm arm. Gwendolyn flinched back as if startled, pulling her arm away.

Feeling a bit awkward, Gwendolyn wasn’t sure how to explain her reaction.

Marco withdrew his hand, offering a warm smile. "I hope I didn’t scare you, Miss Morris. I just acted on instinct when I saw you stumble. I hope that's okay."

Gwendolyn replied, "It’s fine. You don't need to apologize."

They had only met three times, but from their first meeting, Marco felt there was something Gwendolyn was keeping to herself. He was determined to get to know her better.

However, Gwendolyn’s reaction seemed involuntary, possibly due to past trauma. Marco’s curiosity flickered briefly before he dismissed it, as Gwendolyn was already straddling the moped, ready to leave. She looked back at Marco and said, "I’ll park the moped myself and head to the hospital, so there's no need to trouble you, Mr. Griffin."

She was not used to sharing the tight space of a moped with someone she barely knew. It made her uneasy, especially since Marco, living his busy, privileged life, surely didn’t need to bother with such a minor accident. Surely, leaving it to the driver would suffice.

"Hold on." With a quick step, Marco easily positioned himself in front of her, gripping the handlebars firmly. His expression was both sincere and determined. "You're hurt, and it's my responsibility. I can't let you head to the hospital alone. I'll ride the moped, and you can sit behind me to guide the way."

Gwendolyn had worked in a large pharmacy for over two years, encountering all sorts of people, but someone like Marco—friendly, approachable, and so conscientious—was a first.

Maybe, as they say, those brought up in loving environments naturally spread kindness.

In that moment, Gwendolyn found herself nodding, stepping off the moped and smiling at him. "Can you ride it?"

Marco swung onto the moped. "I tried it once for fun as a kid. Haven’t forgotten how." He glanced back at Gwendolyn. “Hop on.”

Gwendolyn handed him her helmet, put on her own, and took the seat behind him.

Marco twisted the throttle, and the small moped carried them slowly into the night.

Chandler Hunter and Boone Williams stood on the sidewalk, watching the moped fade into the distance. Chandler rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Wow, your boss knows how to charm, doesn't he?"

Whether it was the streetlights or something else, Boone, normally stoic, showed an unusual warmth as he watched his boss leave, speaking earnestly, "You're wrong. Miss Morris is a good person. She deserves the best."

Chandler sighed, "Well, that just makes things more complicated."

He pulled out his phone, typing a cryptic message to their group chat.

"Guys, someone’s got a challenge ahead."

After a moment, Chandler added, "A big challenge."

Gwendolyn Morris directed Marco Griffin to park the scooter near a subway entrance, where there was a designated area for scooters. After parking, I got off and checked my phone to see it was already 11:15 p.m. Compared to the daytime, there were noticeably fewer people around the subway station. A night breeze blew by, and Marco stepped forward to shield me from the wind.

Standing together, we made quite a contrast—one tall, one shorter; one in dark clothes, the other in light. In the stillness of the night, we stood out quite a bit. Marco wasn't wearing a jacket, just a sleek silver shirt that clung to his muscular frame, highlighting the energy beneath the fabric.

I glanced to the side and said, "I'm not cold. You’re not wearing much—maybe you shouldn't stay in the wind." Marco gave a small, knowing smile, perhaps unsure if I was playing coy or genuinely not understanding his gesture. Another woman might have interpreted his actions differently.

He lowered his gaze, studying my face closely under the dim light. With my hair slicked back and no bangs, my full forehead was visible. This hairstyle requires confidence in one’s looks, and thankfully, my oval face and slightly upturned eyes suited it, lending me an air of aloof elegance.

Perhaps it was one of those "contrast" moments people talk about. He chuckled lightly, his tone playful, "Miss Morris, are you worried about me?"

Startled, I looked up. That was bolder than when he’d offered to steady me earlier. Coming from a man to a woman, it was laden with implications.

"No," I clarified. "I have a boyfriend. I wouldn't be concerned about other men." Marco paused, with a flicker of interest in his eyes, as he stepped back to create some distance.

"Sorry," he said sincerely, without any irritation or embarrassment in response to my words, only regret. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just thought Miss Morris was being kind."

I looked at him, pondering whether he was as harmless as he seemed. But with him standing against the light, I couldn’t make out the subtleties of his expression, let alone any amusement in his eyes. I decided to drop the subject, stating flatly, "Mr. Griffin is kind as well."

At that moment, a black SUV slowly pulled up to the curb, hazard lights blinking. Marco's phone buzzed—Chandler Hunter had sent a WhatsApp message: "Waiting by the curb."

Marco pocketed his phone and nodded toward the parked SUV. "Our ride is here."

Boone Williams was driving, with Chandler Hunter in the passenger seat. I had no choice but to share the back seat with Marco. Boone, though not very chatty, acknowledged me with a nod. "Hello, Miss Morris."

I nodded in return, "Hello."

Chandler turned around, grinning. "Hey there, I'm Chandler, Marco's old buddy."

"Hi," I replied, smiling.

Chandler put on a mock pout. "Come on, I introduced myself—at least give me your name!"

"Her name is Gwendolyn Morris," Marco interjected with a hint of protectiveness I hadn't expected.

Chandler studied me again, the dim car light making it hard to see my features. Keeping his curiosity in check, he asked, "Gwendolyn Morris—nice name. Any special meaning?"

Marco glanced at me, waiting for my response.

"None," I replied softly. It wasn’t really my name, so how could I know its significance?

Marco shifted his gaze back to Chandler, gesturing for Boone to start driving.

Catching the warning look from Marco, Chandler sat up straight, an amused smile playing on his lips. He sent Marco a WhatsApp message, "So, you like the chase."

Marco read the message impassively, turning off his phone screen without a word.

The SUV pulled up at the hospital's entrance. As I moved to get out, Marco stopped me. "Wait a second."

My hand hovered over the car door, puzzled. "What is it?"

He smiled. "I've arranged for a wheelchair. It should be here shortly."

I was surprised and a bit flustered. "A wheelchair isn’t necessary."

Marco smiled again, stepping out as an older man—Mr. Johnson—wheeled one over. With a gentlemanly gesture, he presented the chair to me. "Miss Morris, please."

His voice was gentle, almost caressing, as if speaking to someone dear. The sensation of being treated with such care was strange, and I couldn't help but look at Marco with newfound caution.

Noticing my hesitation, Marco asked softly, "What's wrong?"

His sincere gaze almost made me question my doubts. I eased into the wheelchair and asked Mr. Johnson, "How is my boyfriend?"

He reassured me with a smile. "Everything is set. Once you're done here, you can go see him."

"Thank you," I said.

The doctor confirmed my foot injury wasn't serious, prescribing some topical treatments. He joked with Marco, “This kind of injury could take a while to heal. Perfect opportunity to play the caring boyfriend—make sure she doesn't walk too much.”

Marco blushed slightly, but I interrupted, "He's not my boyfriend—he’s the one who hit me."

The night was as dark as if a bottle of ink had been spilled across the entire sky. A black SUV sat under the dim glow of a streetlamp, where Marco Griffin and Chandler Hunter leaned against it, quietly smoking. Wisps of smoke circled Marco as he tilted his head back, recalling Gwendolyn Morris's composed expression when she said, "He's not my boyfriend; it was just a misunderstanding." Her face was calm, showing no sign of extra emotion.

Marco took a drag of his cigarette, his gaze growing more intense, like a poker player assessing his hand, considering whether to up the ante. Chandler nudged him on the shoulder, drawing Marco's attention to a shabby apartment complex nearby. Chandler smirked mischievously, "Off to rescue the damsel in distress, are we?" he teased. Then, with a smirk, he added, "But seriously, I couldn't get a good look at her last night—it was pitch black. Aren't you giving her a lift to work tomorrow? Let me come along. I want to see if she's the kind of beauty who got you to drop your usual disdain for people."

Marco exhaled smoke, glancing at Chandler. "You've got too much free time," he retorted. "And who said I was into her?"

The next morning, Marco's car arrived promptly at the entrance of the old apartment complex. Besides Marco and Boone Williams, Chandler was also in the car. He hadn't caught a clear glimpse of Gwendolyn the night before while waiting outside the hospital. Now, he stood beside the car, eyes glued to the entrance.

About five or six minutes later, Gwendolyn emerged from the complex. Chandler watched her walk, noting that her foot seemed fine after just one night. He wondered if she might be faking her injury to exploit his friend.

He quickly leaned down and tapped on the car window. It rolled down to reveal Marco's sharp features. "What's up?" Marco asked.

Chandler nodded toward Gwendolyn and whispered, "Look, her foot's fine. She's playing you."

Marco swung the car door open and stepped out. His eyes fixed on Gwendolyn, who was still wearing the black coat from the night before. Her walk seemed normal, but a closer look showed she moved carefully, glancing at her foot every few steps. Marco pulled out his phone and made a call, "I need some information on a woman named Gwendolyn Morris…" He ended the call just as Gwendolyn approached. Seeing Marco, she remained unfazed and simply said, "Didn't I tell you I didn't need a lift?"

Marco, ever the gentleman, opened the car door with a smile, "I always finish what I start. Hop in."

Gwendolyn climbed into the car while Chandler stood nearby, lost in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" Marco's voice snapped Chandler back to reality.

He pulled Marco aside and urgently whispered, "It was too dim last night, but she looked familiar. Now I remember—I saw her at the police station, and she’s linked to a homicide case. Marco, what's up with you? Didn't you check her background first?"

Marco studied Chandler as sunlight softly bathed him, giving him an ethereal glow. Marco smiled nonchalantly, a hint of predatory curiosity in his eyes, "Are you saying she’s killed someone?"

Chandler recognized the gleam in Marco's eyes—the thrill of a new challenge. His warning had backfired. With a resigned wave, he said, "I should never have told you this."

A madman, Chandler called him. Marco laughed quietly. If being a madman in a dull world was his destiny, he would embrace it, especially now that he had found someone intriguing.

"Fascinating," he murmured, licking his lips. "Utterly fascinating."

Gwendolyn Morris turned out to be more captivating than he'd imagined. The thought of what might lie beneath her composed exterior thrilled him to his core.

He reopened the car door and joined Gwendolyn in the back seat, resuming his gentlemanly demeanor. "Miss Morris, are you heading straight to work, or would you like to stop by the hospital to see your boyfriend?"

Earlier that morning, Gwendolyn had video-called Joey Davis, who reassured her that his injury was minor and didn't require a hospital stay. However, Marco had arranged for him to have a VIP room and a personal nurse. Joey had been impressed, telling Gwendolyn, "Gwen, people like Mr. Griffin are different—they're thoughtful and not bothered by expenses. I think he's a good guy."

Gwendolyn nodded, "As long as you're okay. I'll bring lunch later."

"No need, you should rest your foot. I made a lot yesterday. Take a few days off and relax. Don’t worry; the nurse is here to help me."

Gwendolyn couldn't afford to take time off. Even though she lived with Joey, she never considered his earnings hers. When Joey initially suggested she manage their finances, she had flatly refused.

Joey had been upset then, sulking all night until Gwendolyn noticed his puffy eyes the next morning. She realized he'd cried quietly, touched yet amused by his reaction. It was such a minor issue, but he had wept like a child.

Joey had embraced her from behind, asking, "Gwen, don't you see me as your partner? If you did, wouldn't you plan our future together?"

Her response was pragmatic: "You forget—if they find me, is my money really mine? Keeping your money with you is the safest option."

The black SUV pulled up at the pharmacy. Gwendolyn turned to Marco, as polite as ever, "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Griffin. I'll head off now."

Marco met her gaze warmly, his reply equally gentle, "No need to thank me. It was my pleasure."

Gwendolyn noticed something different about Marco this morning. His eyes were still kind, and his words courteous as ever, yet there was an underlying intensity she couldn't quite place.

As she climbed out and shut the door, the warmth in Marco's eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. Through the glass, he watched her slender figure, studying her as though she were prey. When Gwendolyn hesitated on the sidewalk, Marco exited the vehicle.

"Miss Morris," he called out, his voice crisp in the fresh morning air. Gwendolyn turned to face him as he approached, maintaining a respectful distance.

"For future reference, may I have your number for WhatsApp?" he suggested.

Gwendolyn provided a series of digits—her phone number. Marco carefully entered it into his phone and searched for her profile, then showed it to her with a smile, "Is this you?"

She nodded, "Yes, that's correct."

He sent a friend request, then grinned, "Don’t forget to accept it."

Gwendolyn agreed, "Alright."

As she started to leave, Marco called out again, "Gwen."

She glanced back, surprised by the informal address. Marco offered a casual smile, "It's a beautiful name. Makes me think of wind and jasmine. Let's use it between us; calling you Miss Morris seems too formal now that we've crossed paths."