Chapter 201
Reading the message, Kingsley couldn’t help but send a voice note in return, his tone laced with impatience: “Do you think I’m joking? Do you really have this much free time p>
Thurston’s reply came almost instantly, his voice bright with laughter: “Bro, it’s not that I don’t want to help, but your situation is different from mine. Every time I mess up, I just kneel, pout, and beg, and it works. Your offense is way too serious for that p>
Kingsley didn’t bother responding. Thurston’s strategy of playing the pathetic puppy to win over Jane would obviously never work between him and Lucy.
He checked his watch; evening was approaching.
He picked up his phone and headed out. On his way downstairs, he ran into the housekeeper and gave a curt instruction: “No need to prepare dinner for me tonight p>
“Yes, sir,” the housekeeper replied respectfully.
Just as Kingsley settled into the car, his phone vibrated. He slid his finger across the screen to answer, and Xavier’s excited voice filled the cabin: “Mr. Sherwood, we won the bid! The project team wants to throw a celebratory dinner tonight. Will you be making an appearance p>
“No, I have plans,” Kingsley replied, his voice calm, betraying none of the excitement one might expect from such a victory.
“Understood. I’ll let everyone know,” Xavier responded crisply, ending the call without further ado.
Hanging up, Kingsley turned his gaze to the passing streetscape and instructed the driver, “Go to the nearest florist first p>
“Yes, Mr. Sherwood.” The driver, Phil, acknowledged and smoothly turned the car toward a tastefully decorated flower shop on the corner.
Pushing open the door, Kingsley was instantly enveloped by the rich fragrance of fresh blooms. His eyes swept over the colorful array before settling on a bouquet of striking blue roses—their petals possessing a cold, glamorous sheen that mirrored the tender sentiments he currently kept hidden. He tapped his finger on the counter: “I’ll take these p>
While the clerk wrapped the flowers, Kingsley picked up a pen and slowly wrote a line on a card: “Winning you back is true, but I do not wish to be a burden p>
The handwriting was bold and powerful, yet compared to his usual sharp style, it carried a touch of caution.
After finishing, he placed the card prominently within the bouquet, paid, and walked quickly back to the car with the flowers in hand.
Just as Kingsley stepped out of the florist’s holding the blue roses, a black sedan suddenly swerved out from an angle and screeched to a halt nearby. The passenger window rolled down revealing a blond man wearing a mask the dark müzzle of an a gun aÃmed straight at him.
“Mr. Sherwood, look out!” Phil reacted instantly, drawing his weapon to return fire.
But the assailant was faster. A bullet
whistled through the air toward Kingsley He twisted his body in a frantic dodge, white he avoided a fatal strike, the bullet embedded itself ruthlessly into his left arm.
Phil’s return fire only grazed the enemy’s car. The attackers didn’t linger; after firing that single shot, they sped off immediately.
Phil rushed out of the car, staring at the blood gushing from Kingsley’s arm, his voice urgent: “Mr. Sherwood, I’m taking you to the hospital right now p>
Kingsley furrowed his brows, glancing at the spreading stain of blood on his arm, and gave a low affirmation: “Mmm p>
Phil helped him into the car and immediately called Xavier to report the situation. Just as the call ended, Kingsley suddenly spoke up: “Go to Englewood first p>
“Mr. Sherwood, your arm needs immediate attention!” Phil looked at the blood soaking through a large
patch of his employer’s shirt, his
tope frantic. I can deliver the
flowers later myself. I promise to get them to Miss Lynwood’s hands p>
Kingsley was silent for a few seconds. He gently placed the bouquet aside, then tore
a strip from his shirt, gritting his teeth as he bound the wound tightly to slow the
bleeding.
The pain from the gunshot made him knit his brows tightly. He took out his phone,
his fingertips cold from blood loss but still steady, and sent a text to Peter: “I’ve been shot. Find out who did it p>