You Had Me, You Lost Me, You'll Never Find Me novel Chapter 71

When Sylvia Harlow left the company building, a tall, lean man was leaning against a Porsche Cayenne. A girl was hitting on him. The man's striking features were enough to make any woman's heart skip a beat in the hazy, amber glow of the setting sun, but his deep eyes were filled with nothing but cold, detached indifference.

Soon, the girl walked away, a look of visible disappointment on her face.

Sylvia stood a short distance away, holding her bag and wearing flat shoes. She was dressed in a loose white gown and a black mask, looking as pure and radiant as a blooming lily.

She was about to look away when Ashton Wyatt seemed to sense something and turned his gaze toward her.

His features were impossibly handsome, marked by high brows and pitch-black eyes. His thin lips moved, seemingly saying something.

Sylvia turned around and immediately boarded the company van.

She faintly heard a commanding, "Come here."

Sylvia tried to slam the door shut, but Ashton closed the distance in a few long strides. He clamped his hand on the doorframe, his predatory gaze locking onto her.

"Get out," he ordered.

Seeing him brought back the memory of the disdainful look he gave her in his apartment, along with the deliberate, mocking hostility he had shown at the boutique.

Her instinct was to run.

But Ashton had already grabbed her arm, forcefully dragging her out of the vehicle.

The driver tried to intervene, and pedestrians began to stare. A few people even pulled out their phones to record the scene.

Sylvia lowered her head, desperate to avoid a public scene. She waved the driver off and stumbled along behind Ashton.

"Ashton, what the hell are you doing? You're hurting me!"

Ashton didn't loosen his grip, roughly shoving her into the backseat of the car.

Finley Harris was sitting in the driver's seat. Once Ashton got in, he ordered Finley to drive.

The Cayenne drove in heavy silence, heading straight toward Golden Bay Residences in the heart of the city.

Ashton carried her all the way to the eighteenth floor and unlocked the door with his fingerprint.

The apartment had a new housekeeper. Seeing Ashton carry a woman inside, she instinctively said, "Ms. Winslet, you're back? Dinner is almost ready."

Sylvia's face drained of color.

Ashton dropped her onto the sofa and turned as if to leave. The second Sylvia tried to move, his sharp gaze snapped back to her.

"Take one step, and see what happens."

The sofa was incredibly plush, and Sylvia sank deep into the cushions. She hovered awkwardly, resting her elbows on the armrests. Before she could adjust, Ashton's voice cut through the air. "Your mother was in a car accident and is in the hospital. If you leave, I'll have someone pull her breathing tube."

Sylvia had no idea if he was telling the truth, but true or not, the threat was utterly vile. Her chest heaved with anger. "Could you be any more of a bastard?"

Hearing this, Ashton raised an eyebrow. He sat down next to her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and leaned in to kiss her with reckless abandon.

He was using his actions to prove that he could, indeed, be much worse.