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."

Working at the pharmacy wasn't particularly busy, but company policy was strict: no phone use during shifts, even when idle. As the manager put it, it was a matter of professionalism. Not that I had much time for my phone anyway. During the quiet moments between customers, I was busy studying for the licensed pharmacist exam. In our line of work, without that certification, I’d be stuck as a sales associate forever. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I was aiming higher, to earn more, and to move up to a management position. Without that license, those aspirations would remain out of reach.

All morning, whenever there weren't customers, I was buried in my books. So engrossed was I that I forgot about the pending friend request from Marco Griffin on WhatsApp. Meanwhile, Marco sat in his office chair, staring at his phone screen, where the pending friend request from me was a constant reminder.

It wasn't until lunchtime, when I called Joey Davis for a video chat, that I noticed Marco's request. After accepting it, I started my call with Joey. Our pharmacy operated on a two-shift system. There were just two of us clerks, overseen by one manager. But since our store was small—barely making a profit—the manager also had oversight of other locations.

Usually, I alternated shifts with another clerk: from 7 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., and then from 2:30 p.m. to 10 p.m. On morning shifts, I barely had time for lunch, often scarfing down a quick sandwich or a packed meal from home during quieter moments.

Across the screen, Joey was enjoying a hearty lunch, his plate full of meat and vegetables, while I was stuck with my sandwich. We chatted casually as I finished my meal. It wasn't until after I hung up that I noticed the flurry of messages from Marco on WhatsApp.

Marco: "So you finally decided to take me out of the waiting room, huh? Now let's talk about compensation."

Three minutes passed with no reply from me, and Marco sent another message.

Marco: "I'm not used to handling situations like this. What do you think would be fair compensation for last night's incident for you and your boyfriend?"

Another three minutes without a response, and Marco messaged again: "Am I interrupting your break?"

I quickly typed back: "No, I was just having lunch. As for compensation, I'll need to discuss it further with my boyfriend. But he's pretty happy with how you handled things last night, Mr. Griffin, so we won't ask for much."

In his office, Marco scrolled through the messages, each "boyfriend" seeming to provoke a sardonic smile. "Boyfriend? How charmingly you put it. Gwendolyn Morris, you're the one who's been getting under my skin."

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from a drawer, lit one, and took a slow drag. To be fair, Marco wasn't the type to indulge frequently. He wasn't interested in much of anything, really. Even his cigarette habit was sparse—one every few days, maybe. A pack could last him two months.

But ever since I came into his life, he'd been smoking more frequently. Like he needed the nicotine to calm some unfamiliar storm within. Realizing this, he stubbed out the cigarette and sent another message: "I'll wait for your response."

I stared at "I'll wait for your response," my brows knitting slightly. Out of context, there was nothing particularly alarming about those words, yet they left me feeling uneasy. Just then, a customer entered the pharmacy. I quickly turned off my phone screen, slipped it into my pocket, and approached with a welcoming smile. "Hello, can I help you find something today?"

...

After my shift, I headed home, stopping at the small grocery store outside my apartment complex to pick up some celery and fresh meat. I planned to make Joey some homemade pork and celery dumplings and bring them to the hospital. Joey loved dumplings, especially those with pork and celery, though I wasn't much for cooking. Usually, our meals were whatever we could throw together with the least fuss. But today, I wanted to make an exception, considering he'd injured his back.

When I arrived at the hospital, Joey opened the container, the savory aroma of celery and pork filling the air. His grin was wide and toothy. "You don't know how long I've been craving this."

Without bothering with a fork, he grabbed a dumpling with his hand and popped it into his mouth. "So good!"

The orderly, a man in his thirties, chuckled at Joey. "Hey, if you want dumplings, just let me know, and I'll get some for you."

"Mmm," Joey mumbled around a mouthful of dumpling. "But nothing beats my fiancée's cooking. You should try some; it's fantastic."

The orderly raised his hands in polite refusal. "I'm good, just ate. You two enjoy. I’ll step out for a bit."

Joey nodded, gesturing to the untouched dinner on his hospital table. "The orderly just brought that; you should have it while it's hot."

I picked up a cup of water, holding it to Joey's lips. "Drink some water, take it slow."

He sighed contentedly. "If only I had some soup to go with these dumplings, that’d be perfect."

Just as the orderly left the room, Marco appeared at the door, caught off guard by the man's brisk exit. Marco's imposing presence lingered in the air as the orderly nodded, then quickly moved on. Marco, however, remained where he stood, peering through the glass in the door at Joey and me inside the hospital room.

I was wiping a bit of sauce from Joey's lips with a napkin. Whatever Joey had said made me laugh, my hand playfully nudging his shoulder, my usually composed demeanor softened by a certain shyness in my smile.

Marco’s eyes tracked my expression, unreadable emotions swirling in their depths. He murmured to himself, “With an injured leg, can’t even look after yourself, yet here you are, cooking and bringing food from afar for him. Truly a devoted girlfriend.”

He inhaled deeply, suppressing the storm of jealousy brewing within him, exhaling slowly. Though it was a stolen glance, his gaze bore the confidence of possession.

"Sir," Boone said, ending a phone call and turning to Marco. "I've got the results from the investigation you requested on Miss Morris. I've had them sent to your email."

Marco pulled his eyes away from the window, retrieving his phone to check his email. Sure enough, a new message waited, the details about me laid out in the attachments.

My father was a university professor; my mother, a retired high school teacher. I’d been working at the pharmacy as a sales associate for two years now.

The details made Marco frown. My parents were educated professionals, yet I was working at a pharmacy? It didn’t add up to him. With such a background, surely I could do more than just sell medicine.

Something wasn’t right.

As Marco read on, he discovered I donated a third of my monthly salary to an all-girls private school. The school was well-known, the principal publicly acknowledging contributors to maintain transparency and gratitude.

A slow grin spread across Marco’s face as he digested this piece of information. Tenderness and mischievous excitement mingled in his eyes. "Here I thought she was all facade, but she’s quite the altruistic saint. But even saints need a place for their offerings."

He turned off his phone and once more peered through the glass at Joey and me, our heads bent close in laughter over dinner. His voice carried a note of anticipation, "I’m a saint myself. Care to taste the offerings I lay before you?"

Gwendolyn Morris had just returned home when her phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the screen and saw an eye-popping figure: one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Her jaw dropped in disbelief at the sum.

After a moment, she closed the message, kicked off her shoes, and hung her coat on the hook by the door. She settled onto her bed and called Marco Griffin on WhatsApp. Marco answered almost instantly, his smooth voice coming through the speaker.

“Gwendolyn, did you get my payment?”

“Mr. Griffin, this amount is excessive; it doesn’t feel right,” she replied.

Marco chuckled softly. “It's calculated based on your boyfriend's earnings. Besides, there's no such thing as 'too much.'”

Joey’s income was indeed substantial, but not to that extent. Gwendolyn was never one to believe in something for nothing and was cautious of people being overly generous without reason. As she pondered how to handle the situation, Marco’s voice broke her thoughts. “I can explain it better in person. I'm actually near your place; let's meet up.”

The area around Gwendolyn’s neighborhood was mostly filled with bustling eateries, not ideal for a chat, so they decided to meet in his car.

As soon as she got in, she caught a faint whiff of whiskey on Marco. He smiled and said, “I was at a whiskey tasting tonight and had a couple of glasses. I was just passing by your neighborhood.”

His explanation put her a little more at ease. She pulled out her phone. “Why don’t you give me your account info? I’ll send back the excess money.”

There was a pause, and she looked up to see the colorful city lights reflecting in the car, casting a glow over Marco’s face. He was looking at her with a gentle expression, which made her slightly uneasy. Doubts crept back into her mind. She spoke directly, “Mr. Griffin, I have a boyfriend, so I’m not entertaining anyone else’s advances.”

Marco remained silent, his eyes soft but now with a hint of seriousness, a faint smile on his lips. His silence made her more unsettled, until suddenly Marco’s smile widened. He laughed lightly, a touch of mischief in his eyes as he shook his head.

“Gwendolyn, did you really think I was making a move on you? My apologies…”

Despite the potential awkwardness, his demeanor was sincere and oddly charming. He leaned back, folding his arms, and asked earnestly, “Then tell me, why would I be pursuing you?”

Gwendolyn was caught off guard, momentarily speechless. Yes, why would someone like Marco chase after her? And using such indirect methods, no less. Was she being overly confident?

But her instincts were usually accurate, and she had a strong sense that Marco wasn’t entirely indifferent. Yet, she couldn’t pinpoint the reasons.

In the car, it was just the two of them. Boone had stepped out when she got in. The atmosphere felt charged.

Marco leaned in slightly, his face closer than before, just watching her with those gentle eyes. One second, two seconds, three—and then Marco grinned. “You didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?”

He straightened up, retreating to a safe distance, when Gwendolyn surprised him. She reached out, hooking a finger inside his collar, pulling him back down. Their noses nearly touched; she could see each of his eyelashes.

Marco’s heart raced, his pulse quickening in a way he hadn’t experienced before. He was unsure of Gwendolyn's intentions, but a sense of anticipation built up within him.

Just as the tension peaked, she turned slightly, her lips brushing his cheek as she whispered in his ear, “You didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?” She echoed his words back.

She pushed him away, leaning back with an easy smile. “Mr. Griffin, I'm not interested in a game of push and pull. There can be many reasons behind a pursuit. Let’s make tonight our last meeting. We come from different worlds; there’s no need to force it.”

It felt like the game was over.

Gwendolyn exited the car and shut the door. Before walking away, she leaned back down, waved her phone at him, and said, “Since you’re not worried about the money, Mr. Griffin, I’ll keep the compensation.”

For the first time, Marco found himself flatly turned down by a woman. Yet, despite the rejection, he wasn’t angry; instead, he felt an irresistible urge to pull her back and hold her close.

His eyes lingered on her retreating figure, noticing how sensitive she was to the cold. During their visit to the retirement home when the weather unexpectedly warmed up, most women had switched to lighter clothing, but Gwendolyn had worn a thick coat. And during most of their encounters, she had been bundled up in a wool parka.

March in the north wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t cold enough to warrant a heavy coat every day. The only time he had seen her in regular attire was when they first met—she wore a light gray sweater over black leggings, rushing to help her boyfriend.

“Does she really care for him that much?” Marco wondered aloud as he watched her enter her building.

His phone buzzed beside him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and answered.

Chandler Hunter’s voice came through excitedly, “Marco, I found something. I knew I’d seen that woman, Gwendolyn Morris, before. I’m headed your way now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes with some confidential info.”

An hour later, Marco sat in his study, a manila envelope marked "confidential" in front of him. Chandler's so-called “confidential” file turned out to be just two pages.

Marco glanced over the sheets, his eyes widening, his grip on the pages tight until his knuckles turned white.

The file contained information on a crime—a case of two deaths and one survivor. The deceased were a trafficker and a kidnapped young woman, while the survivor was Gwendolyn, who had narrowly escaped from the mountains where she had been held captive. When rescued, she was severely injured.

Gwendolyn’s ordeal had begun during her college summer break, when she had helped a stranger in distress—a decision that led to her abduction.

After reading, Marco picked up a lighter and watched as the papers caught fire, reducing them to ash. He stared at the burning flame, his previously feigned gentleness now replaced by a somber darkness.

“So, you’re a survivor of great trials,” he murmured to himself. “Having already faced one ordeal, I’ll spare you another.”

Watching the ashes smolder in the tray, he whispered four words, “The game is over.”