Chapter 4

Chloe's POV

The man was doubled over from the beating, frantically begging for mercy.

"Mr. Walker, I was wrong! I swear I'll never dare to do it again!"

Zachary twisted his collar and threw another punch.

"Again? You think you even deserve a next time?" he snapped coldly.

Cowering in the corner with his arms over his head, the man kept pleading.

"I'll cross the street whenever I see Miss Evans from now on..."

Zachary didn't let go of his grip on the collar, yet there wasn't a trace of outward anger on his face.

A crowd had already gathered around the restaurant entrance.

Some craned their necks to watch, while others held up their phones to film.

The restaurant staff wanted to step in but didn't dare, wringing their hands nervously on the sidelines.

Claire rushed out of the restaurant, throwing her arms around Zachary's, her voice trembling. "Zachary, stop, please stop! What if you actually kill him?"

After she pleaded a couple of times, Zachary finally released his hold.

The man slumped to the ground, wiped a smear of blood from his lip, and suddenly snapped his head up. His gaze cut right through the crowd and landed dead on me.

"It was her!" He pointed straight at me, his voice cracking hysterically. "It was Chloe! She was the one who put me up to harassing Miss Evans! She said as long as Miss Evans's reputation was ruined, she could take her place! Mr. Walker, I was played by her too!"

The crowd instantly broke into hushed whispers.

Claire's expression shifted immediately. Stepping forward, she blocked me behind her and snapped at the man, "What kind of nonsense are you spewing? Chloe would never do something like that!"

Then she turned back, eyes welling with tears as she grabbed my arm. "Chloe, don't listen to him. I believe you."

The onlookers were buzzing with gossip.

"Wait, so she put him up to it?"

"She looks so innocent, but she's got some nasty tricks."

"Didn't she just walk in with Mr. Walker? That's messy."

"They're already engaged, and she's still trying to squeeze her way in..."

"Who even knows with these rich socialite circles."

I stood by the entrance, my fingers slowly tightening.

I parted my lips, wanting to defend myself, but swallowed the words right back down.

At a moment like this, the more I explained, the more guilty everyone would think I was.

Claire tugged lightly at my sleeve as if comforting me, but her fingernails dug sharply into my wrist.

My phone was sitting right on the table near the restaurant entrance, its screen still glowing.

I moved toward it, planning to hit record so every word spoken today would be saved.

If I recorded it, I wouldn't have to wait around for anyone to speak up for me.

When the police arrived, I could play it for them. And if anyone ever tried to use this against me in the future, I could play it again.

I stepped forward and reached out for my phone.

Just as my fingertips brushed the glass, a hand shot out from the side and clamped down on my wrist.

It was Zachary.

I hadn't even noticed when he walked back over.

Without saying a single word, he slammed my hand down onto the tabletop, pinning my entire forearm flat against the surface, the force dragging half my body down with it.

He stared at me, ratcheting up the pressure little by little.

His face was completely devoid of emotion, just pressing down relentlessly.

My outstretched fingers curled in, joint by joint. The phone my fingertips had been touching slid off the edge with a sharp clatter and smashed onto the ground.

He kept bearing down, pressing until my entire wrist went completely numb, aching so badly I couldn't even lift it, before he finally pulled his hand away.

I stood there, my arm hanging limp at my side.

My wrist hung lifelessly, unable to muster an ounce of strength.

I understood what he meant: swallow your words.

In the past, when he told me to behave, I thought that even if Claire was first in his heart, I would at least be second.

Today, I finally realized that the moment I tried to defend myself, he would personally choke the words right out of my mouth.

Someone in the crowd gasped softly, then quickly clamped their mouth shut.

Zachary turned toward Claire, his tone softening instantly. "Thank you for stepping in today. If you hadn't stopped me, who knows how far that guy would have taken things."

He cast a fleeting glance my way, adding flatly, "Chloe is still immature. Please bear with her."

"Zachary, don't talk about Chloe like that. She must feel awful too," Claire said, clutching his sleeve, her eyes darting toward my limp hand.

Right at that moment, Claire's knees buckled, and she slid down against the doorframe.

"Zachary—" she gasped out softly, her eyes fluttering shut as if passing out.

Zachary's face changed completely. He scooped her up into his arms, turned on his heel, and rushed straight for the car.

Claire leaned weakly against his chest, one hand still clutching his collar.

As he reached the vehicle, he threw a line over his shoulder without looking back: "Stay here. Finish giving your statement to the police before you come back."

The car sped away.

Seeing that the drama was over, the crowd began scattering in twos and threes, though a few people still turned back to stare at me as they walked away.

The police arrived, and the restaurant manager politely asked me to stay and cooperate.

"Are you hurt?" the officer asked, glancing down at my limp hand.

"No," I said, tugging my sleeve down.

What difference would telling them make?

All those people had watched him pin my hand down, yet not a single soul had asked how my wrist was doing.

"That man claims you put him up to this. Is that true?"

"I don't even know his name."

"Is there anyone who can corroborate your statement?"

I glanced down at the phone on the floor. The screen was shattered, completely black.

I could have saved that audio. It was only a table's length away.

Waves of numbness continued to shoot through my wrist, forcing me to switch the pen to my other hand. I scribbled down what had happened in crooked, shaky lines, the back of my hand soaked in cold sweat.

The manager stood by with a polite, stiff smile, not asking a single unnecessary question.

By the time I walked out of the restaurant, it was already past midnight. The lights inside were clicking off one by one.

Standing on the steps, I glanced back at the dark building, then turned and walked away.

The street was completely deserted, the streetlights stretching my shadow out long and thin.

I walked back toward the apartment alone along the sidewalk, moving very slowly, my wrist throbbing in sharp, rhythmic pulses.

I pulled my sleeve down further, hiding the deep red ring.

Passing a convenience store that was still open, I went inside and bought a bottle of water.

When I tried to twist the cap off, my right hand had no strength left. I had to clamp the bottle under my arm and wrench it open with my left hand.

Even opening a bottle of water took two hands now. Standing outside the storefront, I suddenly let out a laugh, and the moment I stopped, my eyes stung with heat.

A gust of night wind hit me, making me shiver violently.

Stepping onto a patch of freshly sprayed asphalt, my shoe slipped. I pitched forward, my elbow and forehead slamming hard against the curb.

Everything went black, and I lost consciousness.