Chapter 239: Tired of Me?

Maggie instinctively turned her head, wishing she could disappear. Instead, she was met with a chaotic scene: a crowd showering her with compliments, luxury cars haphazardly parked, and the steep mountain path looming behind them. How had he found her? She’d already gotten rid of Nolan.

Feeling dizzy, Maggie’s mind went blank.

“Mr. Caleb, you’re a very skilled driver,” she overheard Nathael say as he shook Leo’s hand.

“Mr. Harris, you’re too kind,” Leo responded smoothly.

Closing her eyes, Maggie felt a bittersweet shift from joy to sorrow. She’d dreaded seeing him, yet here he was. Her only comfort was Leo’s presence; he’d prevented a complete breakdown.

“Maggie,” Nathael’s deep voice resonated from behind her.

Bracing herself, Maggie turned, her vision blurry. “Nathael.”

His dark eyes fixed on her. He asked slowly, “Are you having fun?”

“It’s okay…” Maggie replied, feeling inexplicable guilt as she studied his expression. Would he be angry? Upset? The bravado she’d felt after turning off her phone had vanished, replaced by anxiety.

“I’ll take you home,” Nathael declared, gently taking her wrist and pulling her to his side. Maggie nodded silently.

Nathael’s gaze shifted to Leo, intense. “Thank you, Mr. Caleb, for looking after her. However, I hope next time you will refrain from involving her in such dangerous activities.”

Leo’s expression remained impassive; his pale eyes, a stark contrast to Nathael’s dark ones, appeared gentle and harmless. But a closer look revealed a coldness reminiscent of moonlight, a detached observation of the world.

Maggie quickly interjected, “It was me who asked him to take me.”

Her legs went weak, forcing her to look away awkwardly.

“Let’s go home,” Nathael stated firmly, gripping her hand.

Maggie glanced at Leo, then left with Nathael. Leo waved and said softly, “Call me if you need anything.”

Maggie nodded subconsciously, feeling Nathael’s grip tighten. As he ushered her into the car, she sensed his anger.

In the dim light, Maggie stealthily observed Nathael’s stern profile: his jaw clenched, his pupils dark, his presence imposing yet restrained, as if he were silently enduring something.

He looked up. “Is this why you turned off your phone?” His tone was low but stern. Maggie’s eyes welled up. She lowered her head, murmuring, “I was wrong. It won’t happen again.” The confrontation was unexpected, a dramatic twist of fate. For Nathael, it represented her baffling disappearance, ignored calls, and the switched-off phone. Her apology, though docile and sincere, echoed past smooth escapes.

Nathael studied her eyes, struggling to determine the genuineness of her remorse. He then looked away, lips pressed together, and stared out the window. He lit a cigarette.

Quickly, Maggie snatched the cigarette, tilted her head, and brought her face close to his, stopping an inch from his features. “Am I not as pretty as the view outside?” she asked, moving closer. He could smell the faint scent of alcohol and nightclub perfume on her breath.

Nathael remained still, silent, his dark eyes observing her. Feeling the discomfort rise, Maggie pleaded softly, “Can you stop being mad? I don’t want you to be upset.” If he ignored her, she felt tears would come.

His eyes were deep, his tone self-mocking. “Don’t you want to ignore me? Are you tired of me? Or do you think Leo is better?” His words, though not harsh, stung. Tears welled up.

She bit her lip, fell silent, and leaned back, turning to look out the window. The car sped along the mountain road, leaving the noise and lights behind. Darkness enveloped them.

Maggie gazed out the window, lost in thought. Tears swirled in her eyes, but she held them back. Her heart felt heavy. Was it the knowledge of her limited time, or Nathael’s words? Had she ever given him enough security, or had she only hurt him? She recalled her past life and his fate within it.

The memory suffocated her. To Nathael, she seemed a curse, burdening him in life and death. She didn't understand her value in his eyes.

Feeling dizzy, she leaned back and drifted to sleep.

Listening to her steady breathing, Nathael sighed softly. “Turn up the air conditioning,” he requested quietly.

“Right away,” Alex replied.

A deep silence settled, broken only by piano music. Maggie slept fitfully, disturbed by a recurring nightmare about Sierra torturing her in her past life. The sensation of a knife slicing her face was vivid; even healed, the wounds itched unbearably on rainy days. The gouged-out eye was hideous, unlike the blurred eyes on television. She couldn’t see, but she knew that if she could, she would have loathed herself, felt overwhelming fear, and suffered from nightmares.

Knowing her aversion to rainy nights, Nathael always came home early to be with her, sometimes just sitting beside her as he worked. She found his presence comforting.

Suddenly, the dream shifted abruptly to a scene where someone was strapping explosives onto her. Nathael was summoned, and past tragedies seemed poised to repeat.

“No!” Maggie cried, waking abruptly. She gasped for air, looked around, and sighed with relief.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Nathael asked, concerned.

Maggie stared blankly, comforted by his presence. The dream and alcohol had left her voice hoarse and her throat sore. She looked out the window, silent, only to see it was raining.

Noticing her silence, Nathael hesitantly asked, “Are you mad at me?”

Maggie turned, catching the unease and caution in his eyes. Tears uncontrollably streamed down her face.