Chapter 114

Claude's expression shifted rapidly from shock to anger, finally settling on a mix of disbelief and sympathy.

"Ms. Jones, how could you hit Mr. Bennett with a lamp? What did he do to deserve this?" Claude, usually so composed, was too upset to maintain his usual demeanor.

Cynthia replied slowly, "He was acting like a rogue with me."

Claude was taken aback. He turned his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mr. Bennett, how could you act like a rogue? I brought you here to express your feelings, not to treat Ms. Jones like this!"

Claude looked awkward as he helped Jonathan up. He turned to Cynthia and said, "I'm sorry, Ms. Jones. Mr. Bennett has been drinking."

Cynthia crossed her arms, her voice cold. "Being drunk isn't an excuse for his behavior. Next time, I'll call the police."

Claude couldn't help but feel that women could be heartless. After all, a little passion between couples hardly counted as acting like a rogue. However, he understood they were on different wavelengths. In Jonathan's heart, Cynthia was still the woman he deeply loved; from her perspective, they were broken up.

Claude forced a smile. "There won't be a next time, Ms. Jones. Please forgive him?"

Cynthia waved her hand dismissively. "All right, just take him to the hospital."

Claude felt sorry for his boss. He had just been to the hospital for IV drips and now had to go again for a bandage. It's no wonder Mr. Bennett kept the truth from her; how could he fall for someone as sharp and unyielding as Ms. Jones? Claude wondered. He knew that if Cynthia truly understood the risks of being with Jonathan, she would undoubtedly walk away.

Claude sighed, thinking of Jonathan's difficult future.

After Jonathan left, Cynthia lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, feeling a mix of emotions. It would be a lie to say she wasn't affected. Now, whenever she couldn't sleep, she longed for Jonathan's embrace. She was moved and touched, but knew she couldn't let herself fall again. It would kill her. Above all, her life was the most important.

Cynthia slept only two hours. The next morning, she headed to the airport. There were no direct flights from Roncrity to Pillere, so she had to transit in Hofcaster. After a ten-hour journey, she was relieved to be in business class, where she could sleep intermittently for a few more hours. By the time she arrived in Pillere, it was evening.

Cynthia emerged from the airport, looking refreshed. She grabbed her luggage and headed toward the World Hotel, which she had booked in advance.

World Hotel was located near the Grand Palace, the venue for the competition in two days. Cynthia's room was a luxury suite with a stunning view of the Epiphany Tower and the Shersby River. The hotel also featured Pillere's most famous rooftop bar, with a 394-foot terrace offering breathtaking views. If she couldn't sleep, she thought it would be a great place to visit.

Cynthia stayed in her room before going for a walk. She browsed several luxury stores and bought a few bags, significantly brightening her mood.

As dusk settled, she decided to head back to the hotel for dinner. While walking along the fashion street, she felt a strong tug on her arm. She realized two thugs had snatched her bag.

The thugs looked young—one with blonde hair, the other with dreadlocks. They wore loose hoodies and ripped jeans adorned with metal accessories, making a clattering noise as they ran.

Cynthia quickly chased after them in her high heels. Despite the heels, she moved swiftly. She caught up with the blonde-haired thug, kicking him from behind. He fell, and the bags flew out of his hands.

The thug with dreadlocks stopped, glanced at them, but instead of helping, quickly grabbed the bags and ran. Cynthia sprinted after him, removing her high heels. Seeing him sprinting faster, she threw a heel at him. It hit him, causing him to fall.

Cynthia quickly caught up. He was on his feet, glaring fiercely. She calmly put her heel back on. He angrily pulled a fruit knife from his pocket and rushed at her.

Although still putting on her shoes, Cynthia's peripheral vision was on him. She knew she could handle him, even in a group. She waited for the right moment. As he approached, she kicked him. Her heel was aimed at his chest.

However, a white figure lunged at the dreadlocks thug, shouting, "Run!" Cynthia realized it was a good Samaritan. Her kicking leg couldn't be pulled back in time. Her heel hit a stone block, breaking.

Cynthia furrowed her brows. The figure in white (a boy in a white T-shirt) was no match for the thug, who had him pinned down. Cynthia went over, slapped the back of the thug's neck, and he passed out.

The boy, surprised and admiring, said, "Miss, you're amazing!"