Love for One Night

Ch3: The Cat and Mouse Game (3)

Arden's words sent a chill down Sandra's spine, making her shiver involuntarily. Her resolve to get off the car became even firmer.

"I said, let me out of the car!!"

How could Arden let his hard-won prey escape? Catching a glimpse of the person in the passenger seat attempting to open the car door, he casually raised the window to block her efforts.

Sandra frantically pressed every button she could find, but it was all in vain. Frustrated and enraged, she resorted to grabbing the steering wheel in desperation. Arden, who had been enjoying the drama, could no longer stay composed. "Hey, let go," he snapped.

The SVJ swerved erratically, weaving like a worm on the road.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" Furious at her reckless behavior, Arden extended his hand, pressed it firmly against Sandra's face, and shoved her back into the passenger seat without a trace of gentleness. His superior height finally came into play, as Sandra flailed her arms in the air but found herself unable to reach the steering wheel. Realizing her efforts were futile, she gave up.

Just as Arden was about to breathe a sigh of relief, Sandra grabbed his arm and twisted it forcefully, eliciting a yelp of pain.

Despite her actions, Sandra had held back her strength. Attempting to seize the wheel earlier had been a moment of impulsiveness. She understood that if the car lost control, the driver might mourn the ruined sports car, but her own fate would likely be far worse. After all, in the split second before an accident, drivers instinctively steer away from danger, and statistics show that the passenger seat is often the most severely damaged spot.

"You want to die? Fine, let's give it a try." Arden was provoked. He slammed the accelerator to the floor, and the supercar, which had been itching for speed, roared to life, shooting forward like a missile.

Sandra felt her body pressed tightly against the seatback as the scenery outside whizzed past like frames in a fast-forwarded movie. The approaching cars of various shapes and sizes, the flashing traffic lights at intersections, and the blaring car horns overwhelmed her senses. She instinctively squinted her eyes.

But there was no terrified scream, much to Arden's dissatisfaction. He executed a sharp left turn, drifting onto a coastal road, finally hearing the loud thud of Sandra's head hitting the window and her muffled groan.

Switching back to the proper lane, he made another sharp maneuver, deliberately rough this time, expecting her to cling to him out of fright. Instead, she had braced herself by gripping the oh shit bar and curling into a ball in the passenger seat.

Seeing her like that—fearful and defenseless, like a helpless child—something inside Arden softened unexpectedly. The pressure he was applying to the gas pedal eased.

The car's speed dropped to 80 km/h, but with the winding coastal road, Sandra remained curled up, holding on tightly. The car's excellent sound insulation muted the outside noise and even dulled the engine's roar. The confined space seemed to grow quiet. If he focused, Arden thought he might even hear her breathing.

Arden suddenly found himself enjoying this peculiar sensation—being isolated from the world with her, sharing this small, enclosed space. It was oddly satisfying.

She belonged to him. The thought filled him with a sense of gratification. She was a fresh, feisty prey, a small beast with sharp claws and teeth. And though she was temporarily trapped here, she was constantly scheming to escape. This made Arden all the more exhilarated. He loved a challenge, and the girl in the passenger seat was clearly someone who would keep him entertained.

He was curious to see how she planned to flee from his side. After all, no woman had ever vanished from his grasp before he had his fill of fun. Not in the past, and certainly not in the future.

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Sandra had finally recovered from her initial panic, now feeling drained as though she had narrowly survived a catastrophe. She knew Arden had slowed the car, but she still clung to the handle like it was her last lifeline.

She wasn't foolish enough to fear Arden would crash the car and die with her. Protecting her head from smashing into the window again seemed far more important.

A speed of 80 km/h wasn't exactly racing, but the car's low-slung movements, rapid swerves, and vibrations were still unnerving.

This wasn't some vast, straight highway on an open plain. The coastal road was full of twists and turns. Although it was dusk, there were still many vehicles on the road. With the sun sinking behind the mountains, darkness was falling fast.

To the left, waves crashed against the rocky shore, creating white foam. To the right, dark woods swayed with the wind. She felt as though she were riding the last bus to the underworld, with no idea what awaited her at the end.

Getting into his car felt like stepping into a dream. Her mind seemed broken, consumed only by vague worries, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly what she feared. Perhaps she was too terrified to think about what might happen.

The more resilient a woman appears on the outside, the more fragile she often is within. The more violent she acts, the clearer it becomes that she's building a protective wall around herself, one marked with a glaring warning: "Beware of the vicious dog. Keep out."

Was she worried about Arden? Or was she more worried about the unsettling excitement she felt toward the unknown? Even Sandra herself didn't know.