Love Unspoken

"She could resort to begging; why choose to harm us instead?"

Observing the pervasive malice around her, Quinn contemplated an explanation, but she sadly surrendered, letting her hand fall by her side, realizing the insignificance of her clarifications.

All they cared about was their own self-interest, and they nervously dreaded the possibility of being the next victim of the staged accident.

Initially inclined to leave, the man hesitated. What if something had actually occurred to the woman? Wouldn't he then be considered a hit-and-run culprit?

Thus, he opted to drive Quinn away, instructing her to leave quickly.

Quinn, unable to move, was then grabbed by the arm by the man. "Don't play dumb here, get out of here! Are you waiting here to set up the next victim?" he said.

As the man dragged her, Quinn, unable to move her legs, was practically being pulled by the man towards the roadside.

The biting coldness of the accumulated snow saturated her clothes, leaving her in a thoroughly disheveled state.

Behind her, the ground bore long trails from the dragged snow.

The man dumped her on the sidewalk, where passersby paused to watch, but no one stepped forward to intervene, content to stand by as spectators.

That man threw Quinn at the intersection like trash, then pointing at her, he scolded fiercely, "Don't pull this bullshit again. If you run into someone hot-tempered, they'll just run you over, and you deserve it!" Seated slumped on the ground, Quinn hung her head low, allowing the man's tirade to wash over her.

The man continued with a barrage of words, "You're lucky it was me you crossed paths with today; I'm in a good mood. Otherwise, I might have just run you over."This content belongs to Nô/velDra/ma.Org .

As he spoke, he even spat in Quinn's direction. In heated arguments like this, silence only would serve to stoke further anger.

The man, after finishing his tirade, was about to turn and leave. However, as he turned, his abdomen was viciously struck, causing him to take two steps back and sit on the ground.Sitting on the ground, clutching his stomach in pain, he looked up and glared at the person in front of him.

It was only then that he realized what had happened someone had kicked him in the stomach.

The person who kicked him stood before him, dressed in a suit, with a long overcoat draped over him, tall and imposing, with a cold and stern gaze.

He stood there, gazing down at the man with a look of contempt, as if he were disdainfully regarding a piece of trash.

"Who... who are you?" The man was flustered. He realized that the demeanor of the person was something that couldn't be feigned.

Moreover, inherent dignity and disdain of the man before him seemed to emanate from his very core.

Alexander walked up to the man, lifted his shiny leather shoe, and stepped on the man's leg. "Are you sitting on the ground trying to fake an injury?"

His voice was calm, as if he were just casually asking, but he didn't ease the pressure of his foot on the man's leg, causing the man to cry out in pain. "Ouch, ouch, ouch..."

"Does it hurt? Seems like you're trying to fake an injury," Alexander repeated his words verbatim. The man finally understood; this was a knight in shining armor, coming to the woman's rescue. Panicked, he hurriedly explained, "No, no, I wasn't trying to fake an injury!"

Alexander's expression remained unchanged. He casually responded, "Then why don't you get up?"

As he spoke, he even pressed down on the man's leg.

The man was at a loss; he wanted to get up, but he couldn't with this person's foot pressing down on his leg.

"What? Still trying to fake an injury?"

The man was on the verge of cursing; how could he rise when this person was stepping on him? Was this person intentionally provoking a confrontation?