NovelEnglishFitch's expression was icy as he brushed past Mr. Colby without a word, his strides decisive as he headed for the exit.
Mr. Colby, initially trembling in fear, brightened up at the sight of Fitch's unwavering exit. The rumors must be true then; Mr.
Haskins had a disdain for Zoey, the woman who shamelessly threw herself into men's beds.
Was she trying to play the innocent here, looking down on his status? How amusing.
A few steps forward, Fitch paused to light a cigarette when he heard Zoey's voice pierce through the stillness.
"Get off me, why did you close the door?! Don't touch me!"
"Quit the act! How much do you want? I'll pay."
The bathroom door had been locked from the inside, muffling the voices within. Fitch froze as if struck by a spell, tossing his freshly
lit cigarette into the nearby trash and turning back.
Zoey was pinned against the washstand, her coat yanked down. Sweat dripped from her forehead due to her fierce struggle, her
voice intermittent, "I'll definitely sue you."
"After you've had your fun, you won't want to sue me, sweetheart," Mr. Colby adored her looks and smirked triumphantly at the
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thought.
Just as he was about to peel off Zoey's pants, the door behind him exploded open with a kick, crashing onto his back and nearly
knocking the wind out of him.
Mr. Colby, belt undone with his slacks hanging low, went pale at the sight of the man at the door.
"Mr. Haskins."
Hadn't he left? Why was he back?
Zoey, propped against the washstand, felt her legs weaken. Her gaze was unfocused, unable to form a clear picture, only
registering Mr. Colby's shouts for Mr. Haskins. Which Mr. Haskins was it?
Her mind was a mess, incapable of coherent thought.
Fitch, seeing her flushed and feeble against the washstand, felt a surge of anger. He swung his foot at Mr. Colby, who stumbled
back, unable to dodge, and took a solid blow to the chest. Spitting out blood, he collapsed against the wall, his legs shaking
uncontrollably.
Fitch turned to Zoey. She was dressed lightly, but the hotel's heating kept the chill at bay. Her coat lay on the floor, and she
seemed thinner, her face notably slender.
He grabbed her in one swift motion. Zoey, unsteady on her feet, bumped her nose against his chest.
He was tall, cloaked in a dark trench coat, lifting her with ease. Before she could react, she was hoisted over his shoulder.
Her stomach churned under the pressure, nausea rising, yet nothing cout. She hadn't eaten in days, having only sipped some
wine at dinner.
Fitch had no sympathy for women, hearing her shaky plea, "I feel sick; putdown, please!"
Her legs flailed, leaving footprints on his trench coat.
Outside the hotel, the cold air made her shiver violently. Fitch set her down. Her legs weak, she clung to his arm for support.
"So cold," she chattered, her teeth clacking together.
The cold was biting, her underlayers far too thin for the harsh weather, though they did flatter her figure.
Fitch pushed her hand away, but seeing her sway, he pulled her back.
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In the cold, warmth was irresistible. Leaning against Fitch, she found scomfort, but it was nothing compared to the biting
winter outside.
Her trembling fingers searched his waist, and her icy hand eventually snuck into the small of his back, seeking his warmth.
Fitch, on his phone, was oblivious to her actions. He had no intention of escorting Zoey home. After being rebuffed whilst returning
a lost puppy a week ago, he resolved to keep his distance from this woman. The Bennitt family would not be tied down by
marriage; there were plenty of other fish in the sea.
His life was not destined to be entangled with Zoey's. As he browsed his contacts with one hand, an unexpected chill from his waist
made him shudder.
Looking down, he saw Zoey burrowed into his chest, her body still quaking. Now close to the heat, her shivering slightly subsided.
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