Chapter 98: Cheyenne, You've Got Some Nerve

Iker nodded. "Alright, then I'll have the butler send you off."

"No need, I drove myself," Cheyenne replied.

As she stepped forward, a servant stopped her. Just then, another maid hurried down from the second floor carrying a handbag. She stopped before Cheyenne and respectfully handed over the bag. "Miss Lawrence… your clothes are washed."

Her clothes! Kelvin understood the implication, his lips tightening as the air grew cold.

"Oh… thank you," Cheyenne said, accepting the bag and preparing to leave.

Davon wanted to speak with Iker, so he turned back after seeing Kelvin off at the gate.

There was still some distance between Iker's estate and the garage. Kelvin walked ahead; Cheyenne followed silently.

Cheyenne wondered if he really needed the Rejuvenated Herb. Meanwhile, Kelvin wondered if she and Iker had slept together.

They walked in silence until reaching the garage. Cheyenne spotted her pink luxury car, sandwiched between other vehicles. Cars were parked on both sides, and one was behind hers, leaving only a narrow aisle.

She reached the driver's seat, started the engine, and revved it lightly. She began to drive slowly, but her skills were rusty after a three-year absence.

Backing up proved difficult; it was agonizingly slow. Kelvin watched her struggle, remembering her initial, rather earth-shattering, driving lessons. He'd helped her get her license, patiently teaching her parallel parking and backing into garages. Why had those lessons felt so leisurely? Probably because she'd nearly crashed during her first attempt. He felt empathy for her.

Cheyenne's nervousness increased as she realized Kelvin was watching. She pressed too hard on the gas pedal, causing her car to reverse sharply. The car behind was Kelvin's black Lamborghini.

They were about to collide—less than half a meter separated them. Cheyenne yanked the steering wheel, the car's wheels spinning as it scraped the ground, heading straight for a garage pillar. At that speed and distance, a collision would likely have caused an explosion.

"Damn it, hit the brakes!"

Kelvin's furious roar snapped her out of her panic. The tires screeched, creating sparks. The air filled with the smell of burning rubber. A deep black mark, like a brand, marred the ground.

Cheyenne sat frozen, her pupils dilated, her mind blank. Kelvin's shout echoed in her ears.

He strode over, forcefully opened her car door, grabbed her collar, and pulled her out roughly. His face was icy, furious—almost consuming. He pushed her against the wall.

"Ouch! Kelvin, you bastard!"

The rough wall pressed against her; the impact caused sharp pain. Tears welled in her eyes, and she looked at him accusingly. It was the first time Kelvin had seen her so vulnerable. Even after their divorce, she hadn't shown such sadness. She and Abbie were completely different. Cheyenne was a cunning, optimistic fox; Abbie, a delicate flower needing protection—at least until the fountain pen secret was discovered.

Cheyenne's tears stirred something in Kelvin's heart. She cried.

"You have the nerve to cry? If I hadn't warned you, you'd be a mangled mess!" he yelled. His hand on her shoulder tightened, causing her to gasp.

She gritted her teeth, unwilling to show weakness. Pouting, she retorted defiantly, "That's my business!"

"Cheyenne, you've got some nerve!"

"I always have! If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have almost crashed!"

She broke free, pulling down her collar to reveal a bruised shoulder. A stray strand of hair hung against her skin, captivating Kelvin. He noticed the three finger marks. His pupils constricted with guilt; her skin was always so tender, easily marked. But he'd never cared before.

"Do you dress like that for Iker?" [The website promotion is removed here as it's irrelevant to the text cleanup.]

Despite knowing his provocation, Cheyenne was angered. In his eyes, she was just an unfaithful woman who deserved degradation. With a proud chin lift, she looked at him with clear eyes.

"What does it matter? So what if I am? Kelvin, who are you to me?"

Her retort silenced him. "What am I to her? Ex-husband?"

His forehead pulsed; he clenched his teeth, suppressing his rage.

"Give me."

"What?" Cheyenne asked.

He snatched her keys, sat in her car, started the engine, and skillfully maneuvered it, correcting its position. Then he got out and approached her again. His tall figure loomed, his dark eyes intense.

Cheyenne clenched her fist.