Emily Ginger was shoved into the passenger seat, buckled up with a seatbelt. Edward Stephens got into the car and drove toward the Ginger Residence.
The woman in the passenger seat had a cold, pretty face, her expression frosty enough to freeze.
Edward pretended not to notice, acting as if he saw nothing.
He had never coaxed anyone before, and he felt there was no need to.
His relationship with Emily Ginger wasn’t one that involved coaxing; driving her back was simply what a normal man should do.
If anything really happened to Emily Ginger on this road, he doubted he could truly pretend it had nothing to do with him.
The drive was quiet, and he found it somewhat amusing that when she deliberately annoyed him, she was terribly noisy, yet when she was angry, she turned quiet without a word.
He even maliciously wondered if he should use this to shut her up in the future...
Emily Ginger leaned on her hand, looking out the window at the dappled shadows of trees passing by like mist over her face. She had a cool demeanor and didn’t say a word.
The drive was smooth, and an hour later, the car stopped at the Ginger Residence’s gates.
Abigail Perry and Emily Ginger were not at home. In the vast Ginger mansion, only a night light was on in the hall. At this moment, standing at the door, it loomed like a dormant beast, and Emily stood at its mouth as if she were about to be swallowed whole.
Actually, Emily’s company was a bit far from the old mansion. She had an apartment in the city center but insisted on coming back here every night to stay. Who knows what she was thinking?
Edward Stephens rolled down the car window, turned his head to look at the woman standing at the door. She stood there barefoot, slightly pursing her lips, looking still a bit unhappy, puffing her cheeks.
Edward warned, "Don’t call me for nothing."
Emily Ginger chuckled coolly, "OK. Let’s see who calls who then."
Edward snorted, too lazy to argue. After saying his piece, he rolled up the window and turned the car around.
Just about to drive off, there was a loud "bang" on the windshield. Something had been hurled at it; Edward focused and saw that it was a high heel.
It was the high heel that Emily was holding.
He turned his head and saw Emily carrying her bag, walking into the house without looking back.
Today, he had been attacked twice by her high heels.
Looking at the black high heel scattered on the hood, Edward couldn’t help but roll his eyes, cursing, "...Crazy woman."
Could this woman stop throwing whatever she had at hand?
The servants in the mansion were all asleep.
The servant watching the night on the sofa woke up as she entered, groggy, sat up rubbing her eyes, and called out, "Miss, you’re back. Would you like something to eat?"
"Go back to your room and sleep," Emily advised. "You don’t have to wait up for anyone."
The servant hesitated, instinctively wanting to ask about Abigail Perry and Emily Ginger, but looking at Emily’s silhouette and recalling their relationship, she didn’t dare ask more.
Emily Ginger, barefoot, went straight upstairs.
Growing up in this familiar house, it now exuded an unusually unfamiliar aura at night.
She clearly remembered sitting in the dining room with Edward Stephens, eating the pudding Alice Lesser made for them, while the hallway still echoed with the laughter of them running hand in hand.
How did everyone disappear in the blink of an eye?
She rarely felt vulnerable, perhaps from the exhaustion of a whole day’s running around.
Emily entered the bedroom, locked the door tightly. Only in this familiar room did she find a moment’s respite.
She sat on the bed in a daze for a while, then took out two wedding certificates from her bag, placing them on the bedsheet, and looked down at them.
Edward Stephens, you once promised me, and finally, it has come true.