“It’s alright,” he reassured her, though doubt flickered in his eyes. “Tomorrow, I’ll go see Uncle Klein. I doubt even he would side with my dad on this.”
Emily hesitated, biting her lip. “But Carter, Uncle Klein doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
“Milly, don’t think like that,” Carter said, attempting to soothe her worries. “Uncle Klein might come off as distant, but he’s the one in our family who always adheres to the rules.”
In the Bennett family, aside from Grandpa, the only person Carter held in any regard was Klein. Whenever Klein was around, the dinner table transformed into a model of order, as he often reminded everyone, “Don’t talk while eating or sleeping.”
Though they were only seven years apart, Carter often felt as if Klein possessed a maturity that made him seem at least seventeen years older.
Carter had once complained about why Grandpa favored Uncle Klein, designating him as the heir to the entire family empire, while his own father, despite years of dedication, remained in the shadows of his brother’s success.
That conversation had led to a stern punishment; his father had locked him in a room and made him stand in silence for an hour.
“Stop those thoughts you shouldn’t be having. Don’t waste your sympathy on me. If you have the courage, wait until you’re grown and fight for it yourself. But as long as I’m here, I won’t tolerate it,” his father had snapped, leaving Carter with a deep understanding of his father’s respect for Klein.
As for fighting for his own place in the family, Carter lacked the nerve to pursue it.
Emily, unaware of the depth of Carter’s trust in Klein, pursed her lips. “Maybe I’m just overthinking everything.”
“Exactly. Tomorrow, I’ll head to the headquarters to find Uncle Klein. He’ll convince my dad,” he promised, a flicker of determination igniting within him.
At nine o’clock, the two left the Harris Manor, but Whitney was nowhere to be found.
Carter sneered, a bitter thought crossing his mind. ‘See? Was it really that hard for her to admit she just wanted to marry me?’ The memory of the slap she had delivered that morning ignited a fire of anger within him.
Meanwhile, Samuel had a social engagement but was well aware of his wife’s schemes. He lingered in the corridor, dialing Laura’s number. “Has that girl stopped causing trouble yet?”
Laura, reclining against the headboard with a sly smile, replied, “Don’t worry. I slipped her some medicine in the car. It’s just to ensure she behaves. She probably can’t walk more than a few steps right now. Her legs are still weak.”
“On the day of the wedding, I’ll adjust the dosage to something milder. Samuel, trust me. The wedding will go off without a hitch,” she assured him, her confidence unwavering.
Just then, a voice interrupted him. “Mr. Moore, what are you doing hiding out here in the breeze?”
Laura’s expression darkened at the sound of a sultry female voice. “Where are you entertaining tonight?”
Samuel cleared his throat, his voice steady. “At the Royal Crest Club. Just a waitress passing by, Laura. Don’t overthink it.”
He hung up without waiting for a response, leaving Laura wide awake, her curiosity piqued.
She glanced at the time on her phone and quickly made another call. “Is Mr. Moore at the Royal Crest Club right now?”
Whatever the reply was, Laura’s face hardened as she marched to her closet, changing into a more suitable outfit for a night out.
As fate would have it, her car brushed past Klein’s luxurious Maybach, which had just pulled up at the Moore residence.
Klein, surveying the tightly shut front door, dialed Whitney’s number.
Whitney had just heard the sound of a car leaving the garage. Now, with only herself, a handful of servants, and bodyguards inside the villa, the moment felt ripe for escape.
Just then, her phone rang.
She froze, staring at the screen, her heart racing as she recognized the rabbit avatar with red eyes. ‘Why him?’ she thought, caught off guard.
“Hello, Mr. Harris,” she answered, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her.
“I’m outside your place. Which room are you in?” Klein’s voice came through, firm yet reassuring.
Whitney’s heart raced. “Mr. Harris, you already know?” she asked, her anxiety creeping in.
“Yeah,” he replied curtly. “Lena told me. You still haven’t told me where your room is.”
“Oh, Mr. Harris, you can come in from the back. My room faces the back door of the villa, but there are two bodyguards downstairs keeping watch,” she explained, urgency lacing her words.
“Oh, Mr. Harris, hurry; one of the bodyguards just left. He probably went to the bathroom,” she added, her hope rising.
A faint smile broke across Klein’s lips, a low chuckle escaping him. “Don’t rush. Wait for me. I’m coming to save you.”
He bit back the words that threatened to spill, knowing that rescuing her felt like a debt he could never repay.
Whitney shook off her wandering thoughts, peering eagerly from behind the curtain at the lone guard downstairs.
By some stroke of luck, the guard, who had been glancing up at her window, suddenly began jogging toward the front gate.
Seizing the opportunity, Whitney flung open the window, her heart racing as she caught sight of Klein in the moonlight.
Klein tilted his head back, a faint smile playing on his lips as he slowly opened his arms. “Dare to jump?”
Whitney’s heart raced as she nervously licked her dry lips, glancing down at the daunting drop. It had to be at least twenty feet, two stories high.
“Can you catch me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Klein’s brow lifted slightly, confidence radiating from him. “Yes.”
Though trepidation coursed through her veins, Whitney bit her lip, closed her eyes, and leaped into Klein’s tall, outstretched embrace.
His solid arms enveloped her, radiating warmth, and the lingering scent of sandalwood on his breath surrounded her like a comforting cocoon.
Startled, she looked up at him, her voice rising with delight. “I did it, Mr. Harris!”
Klein’s long lashes brushed against his eyelids as he smiled, a faint, elusive curve of his lips. “Yeah, I’ve got you,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.
Whitney lifted her gaze, enveloped by the lingering warmth that seemed to cocoon her in a soft embrace.
She could feel the reassuring hand resting on the small of her back, the heat emanating from his palm even through the delicate fabric of her blouse.
Her heart raced, a wild flutter that sent a shiver down her spine. “Mr. Harris, what brings you here?” she managed to ask, her voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.
In that moment, she was blissfully unaware of the rosy hue that had crept onto her cheeks or how a few rebellious strands of hair clung to her face, framing her features in a way that made her look both charming and a little disheveled.
Her bright eyes sparkled with an impish light, reminiscent of the most dazzling stars scattered across a midnight sky, lending her an irresistible allure that was hard to ignore.
Klein’s throat tightened slightly as his Adam’s apple bobbed; his deep-set eyes flickered with an intensity that could set a prairie ablaze, igniting something within her that she couldn’t quite name.
Just as he opened his mouth to respond, a cacophony of voices erupted from behind them, shattering the moment like glass.
“Where did you just go?” a man’s voice boomed, laced with irritation.
“I thought I heard someone banging on the front door, so I went to check. Damn it, turns out some stray cat was causing all the noise,” another voice replied, exasperated.
“Alright, let’s get back quickly. Don’t want any trouble,” a third voice urged, the urgency palpable.
The sound of their approaching footsteps sent a jolt of adrenaline through Whitney. Instinctively, she pulled Klein’s hand away from her waist, her heart pounding in her chest as she turned to sprint toward the back door of the villa.
“Mr. Harris, we need to leave now,” she insisted, her voice urgent.
As she dashed forward, her pink skirt danced in the breeze, a flurry of color against the backdrop of the villa.
Klein, tall and composed, matched her hurried pace, his presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos.
However, as they reached the back door, a frown creased Whitney’s brow; the lock was firmly bolted from the inside, a barrier to their escape.
“Mr. Harris, can’t you just toss me over the wall?” she suggested, a hint of desperation in her tone.
Klein bent down with an easy grace, patting his shoulder invitingly. “Come on, hop up.”
Whitney bit her lip, a rush of uncertainty flooding her. “Isn’t this a bit inappropriate?” she questioned, her thoughts racing; after all, he was still her client in many respects.
Before she could finish her thought, the heavy thud of footsteps echoed closer. Without a second thought, she stepped onto his shoulder, using his strength to propel herself onto the wall ledge.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.