He opened the car door and let her inside.
While he sat at the driver's seat.
Usually, he doesn't drive, especially not in front of her, because his driver's license information hasn't been forged yet, showing his real age and name.
If checked in the car, he'd be exposed.
But right now, there's no choice but to send her back.
Yet, some things, upon careful reflection, are indeed difficult to fathom.
How could she, a wealthy socialite, be without her bodyguards at night?
Clearly, without her directive, those people wouldn't leave.
Why do it this way?
As he started her car preparing to send her home, Jack felt for a moment like prey falling into a hunter's trap.
The kind that willingly walks into it.
One willingly attacks, the other willingly accepts.
The Rolls-Royce sped along the road, with a faint scent of wine emanating in the car, it was a sweet grape kind.
