Chapter 11
877words
This city remained prosperous, efficient, and cold. The towering office buildings were like a cold steel forest, cutting the sky into irregular geometric shapes. People walking among them still moved with hurried steps and expressionless faces.
I quickly threw myself into my new job. The Brand Strategy Department was a completely new division where everything needed to be built from scratch, keeping me so busy that I hardly had time to indulge in autumn melancholy.
The only thing that made me uncomfortable was my immediate superior, Department Director Walter Wilson.
He was about forty years old, sporting a trademark beer belly, and always wearing a smiling expression on his face—a typical wolf in sheep's clothing. He was cordial to everyone, except with me; that "cordiality" always carried a hint of unpleasant sleaziness.
He would "accidentally" rest his hand on the back of my chair during meetings; he would deliberately touch my fingertips when handing me documents; he would inquire about my personal life under the pretext of "caring for his subordinates," asking if I had a boyfriend.
I maintained a professional demeanor, neither servile nor arrogant, skillfully deflecting these harassments without making a scene.
But this obviously displeased Walter Wilson.
At an important project celebration dinner, emboldened by alcohol, he insisted on "having a private drink" with me, speaking flirtatiously and even attempting to put his arm around my shoulders.
"Mr. Wilson, I drove here today so I can't drink alcohol. Let me toast with tea instead." I picked up my teacup and subtly stepped back, avoiding his touch.
Under everyone's watchful eyes, Walter Wilson's face alternated between pale and flushed before he finally backed down reluctantly.
But the grudge, it was definitely established.
That night, due to an urgent PR crisis, I was forced to stay late at the office to handle online public opinion issues until after eleven, when I was the only person left on the entire floor.
I packed up my things and tiredly walked toward the empty underground parking lot. The "click-clack" sound of my high heels hitting the ground echoed in the silent space, sounding exceptionally clear and particularly eerie.
I quickened my pace, just wanting to get into my car as soon as possible.
Just as I was about to reach my parking spot, a dark figure suddenly emerged from behind a thick concrete pillar, abruptly blocking my path.
It was Walter Wilson.
He reeked of alcohol, with a malicious smile on his face.
"Miss Johnson, working so late? You really work hard." He stepped toward me inch by inch, "Why don't I give you a ride home?"
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Wilson. I drove myself." I forced myself to stay calm, backing away while reaching into my bag, searching for my car keys and phone.
"Don't be so distant!" He saw through my intentions, suddenly rushing forward, grabbing my wrist and pinning me hard against the cold concrete pillar.
"You little woman, why are you acting so high and mighty in front of me!" His face instantly turned ferocious, "It's your good fortune that I'm interested in you! If you don't please me well today, don't even think about staying in this department anymore!"
His greasy hand started to dishonestly reach under my clothes.
"Let me go! You bastard!"
I screamed, struggling with all my strength, my nails scratching several bloody marks on his face.
The intense fear and disgust nearly made me vomit.
Just then, a piercing sound of tire friction suddenly rang out!
A black Bentley, like a silent beast, silently glided nearby, and the dazzling headlights suddenly lit up, illuminating our little corner as bright as day!
The car door was kicked open, and a tall, straight figure rushed out with overwhelming force!
Before I could see the face of the person who arrived, he had already grabbed Walter Wilson's collar, pulling him off me like picking up a small chicken, and then delivered a powerful right hook that smashed brutally into Walter Wilson's face!
"Bang!"
With a muffled sound, Walter Wilson's plump body collapsed like a pile of mud.
The newcomer didn't hesitate for a moment, straddling him and mercilessly punching and kicking him. Each blow carried world-destroying fury.
Still in shock, I scrambled up from the ground, crawling and stumbling back to the streetlight, where I finally made out that painfully familiar silhouette.
Still so straight-backed, still so intimidating.
My heart, in that moment, seemed to be gripped by an invisible hand, suddenly stopping its beat.
A name I thought I would never utter again in this lifetime uncontrollably spilled from my trembling lips.
"……Francis Foster?"
That frenzied motion of beating Walter Wilson suddenly stopped.
He slowly stood up, his broad back slightly heaving, as if he was trying hard to calm something down. With his back to me, he didn't turn around for a long time, like a silent statue.
Under the dim lights of the parking lot, we stood only about ten meters apart, yet it felt as if we were separated by two years of time and an impassable deep sea.
Time, at this moment, was stretched unbearably long, so quiet that only the sound of our rapid heartbeats remained.
