Chapter 408:
But the driver, witnessing this small, unexpected gesture, looked completely taken aback.
The driver had never witnessed Dylan act with such tender care. If he hadn’t been stone-cold sober, he might have questioned his own eyes. Was this truly the same Dylan he’d known all along?
Dylan settled into the back seat beside Christina, and once they were both situated, the engine hummed to life and the car rolled smoothly into motion.
“I’m going to take a nap,” Christina mumbled, leaning her head back and letting her eyelids fall like velvet curtains.
Sleep swept over her like a calm tide, deep and undisturbed, as though she could always unwind fully and feel secure in her surroundings by just being close to Dylan.
Christina slept soundly, her head inching ever so slowly toward Dylan, drawn as if by gravity. Moments later, it came to rest on his shoulder.
Dylan stiffened, unsure whether to breathe or freeze in place. He sat there, tense as a wire, afraid that even the faintest twitch might stir her awake.
Then, the car jerked unexpectedly. Christina, slumped peacefully against Dylan, lurched forward. He reacted on instinct, catching her chin with both hands before she could slump too far.
Dylan braced for Christina to wake, but instead, she only murmured—soft and vague—before sinking right back into sleep’s cradle.
With care, Dylan adjusted her, gently easing her down onto his lap, letting her rest there. His hand hovered over her in quiet protection, ready to steady her should another sudden jolt rock the car.
He looked down at her, the icy detachment in his eyes melting beneath the fringe of his lashes. He brushed away a stray lock of her hair, eyes softened with an emotion that felt too foreign to name. He remained unmoving, as though even shifting his weight might shatter the stillness.
The driver discreetly watched Dylan through the rearview mirror several times, visibly stunned. That Christina could soften a man like Dylan—it was almost unbelievable. She had to be Dylan’s future wife.
When the car finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, the driver lowered his voice and asked, “Mr. Scott, should I wake Miss Jones?”
gⱯlnσν𝓮𝓁s﹒𝓬𝗈𝗺, the heart of fiction
“There’s no need,” Dylan replied coldly.
The driver stepped out quickly and opened the car door. “Should I call a nurse to carry Miss Jones upstairs?”
“No need.” Dylan refused once more, clearly intending to carry Christina himself.
“Mr. Scott!” the driver exclaimed in alarm, hurrying to stop him. “Your injury hasn’t healed completely. If you carry Miss Jones, it might tear open again.” Dylan’s condition allowed him to walk short distances, but anything that required effort was risky. Carrying someone in his state could easily worsen his wound.
“I’ll manage,” Dylan said flatly, lifting Christina into his arms without flinching. He strode toward the hospital with calm determination.
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