Chapter 1711:
“I should escort you to the office.” A gnawing sense of dread took hold of Jules, as though disaster loomed just beyond the horizon, waiting for the right moment to strike.
“There’s really no need,” Corrine countered firmly. “Don’t fret.”
Acknowledging her resolve, Jules relented. “Just make sure you’re safe on the road.”
“Stop worrying.” She chuckled, dismissing his concern with a wave as she headed to the parking lot.
Jules remained stationary, watching until Corrine settled into her vehicle. Only then did he set off.
Rachel sat quietly in the passenger seat. A worried crease formed between her brows. “Jules, is something bad going to happen?”
Her awareness of Jules’ deep affection for Corrine sharpened her concern, especially given his evident anxiety.
As he clutched the steering wheel, Jules’ concern was written all over his face. “There’s this gnawing feeling that disaster looms.”
“Should we tail her?” Rachel proposed. “We could ensure she reaches the office safely.”
Without a word, Jules gave Rachel a significant look, but his decision was clear as he shifted the car to trail Corrine’s.
Meanwhile, Corrine started her car and made her way toward the office. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she spotted Jules following and couldn’t resist calling him. “Have you become my personal bodyguard now?”
“I just got a call from Zeke,” said Jules, keeping his eyes on the road. “The Garcia family has gone unusually quiet lately.”
м๏гє υρ∂คтєร คт gคlภ๏שєlร.ς๏๓
His voice filled the car through the speakers. “I’ve got a feeling they’re plotting something against you.”
Although Corrine maintained her smile, a frosty spark lit up her eyes. Her tone was as sharp as icicles. “Let them try. They won’t know what hit them.”
As they approached the Ford Group headquarters, Jules let out a relieved exhale. “Just keep your guard up these days…”
He was cut off by a blaring horn as a truck burst from a side street, out of control.
“Look out!” screamed Rachel from next to him.
With quick reflexes, Jules swerved, narrowly dodging the truck. The truck grazed Jules’ car, barreling toward Corrine’s vehicle.
A horrific crash ensued as Corrine’s car was struck, flipping and smashing into the median. It skidded violently, ultimately colliding with a utility pole. The sudden impact deployed the airbags, yet Corrine still suffered a bruised and swollen forehead.
Dazed, she unfastened her seatbelt, feeling a warm trickle down her temple. As she looked down, a drop of bright red blood fell onto her hand—stark and vivid, an ominous sign in crimson.
“Corrine!” Jules vaulted the barrier and dashed toward the wrecked car. He crouched to peer at Corrine, trapped inside. “Hang on, I’m getting you out!”
“I’m okay,” Corrine insisted, wiping the blood from her temple. She struggled to free her leg and clumsily climbed out through the intact window.
.
.
.