The Stand-In Who Burned the Script novel Chapter 385

By the time Vivian came downstairs, there was still a faint smear of blood on her cheek.

Unfazed, Zachary calmly raised a hand and wiped it away for her.

"Do you need me to clean up anything else?"

Vivian shot him a fleeting glance. "Call an ambulance for Amara and get me a ride home."

"Done."

"Also, whatever happened between us stays between us. No one can know."

"Understood." Zachary smiled warmly. There was nothing going on between them anyway. It was just the circumstances of how they first met... He quickly realized Vivian simply didn't want anyone digging into her past.

He checked his watch. "I'll head up and handle the mess. Your driver will be here any second, just wait a moment."

That woman looked like the spoiled, sheltered type. Who knew how badly she was injured.

But as long as she wasn't dead, it wasn't a problem.

He trusted Vivian to know where to draw the line.

Vivian's expression remained indifferent as she waved him off, signaling him to hurry up.

Zachary headed upstairs, leaving one of his bodyguards stationed at the hotel entrance.

Vivian crossed her arms over her chest. The wind caught her confident posture, emphasizing her stunning curves. Even though her face remained impassive, she radiated an inexplicable, deep sense of desolation.

—

South Haven.

Silas took a shower as soon as he got home. Before he even had time to change his clothes, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the stairs. He frowned slightly and glanced toward the doorway.

A moment later, a woman's gentle figure stepped into view.

With everything falling apart recently, Grace had no energy to dress up. She had barely drawn her eyebrows and applied some lipstick. But even so, she was undeniably beautiful. Her innate elegance was impossible to hide.

"Silas."

She looked at him, her eyes brimming with a thousand unsaid words.

He had already directed countless harsh words at her. Logically, she had no right to show her face here.

Silas was wearing only a bathrobe, the white bandages faintly visible at his neckline.

He rubbed his fingers together, an overpowering wave of masculine dominance radiating from him. "You can phrase it however you want, but I am not stepping in. Please see yourself out, Miss Gifford."

"...Even if I'm begging you? Is it still a no?"

"If begging solved everything, what about the people who actually suffered?"

The people?

Did he mean Vivian?

How long had they even known each other? Was he actually starting to care whether she had been wronged?

Grace's knuckles turned white. She stared intently at the man sitting across from her, but his gaze never once landed on her.

That sheer coldness was like a towering fortress built around him, completely impenetrable to anyone he hadn't explicitly allowed inside.

Grace knew his character perfectly. Once he made a decision, there was no room for negotiation.

Was he doing this for his own pride, or was it entirely for Vivian?

She bit her bottom lip, refusing to let herself spiral into those thoughts.