C17

"Apologize."

Kimball let out a cold laugh. "Why should I apologize? I don't believe my judgment is wrong. Anyone willing to cozy up to someone like you, who'd do anything for money, can't be good news."

"You!"

"I told you to listen," Kimball's voice grew stern.

Hilda took a deep breath, striving to remain calm. "I've already said you can treat me however you want. That's my choice, and I accept it. But my family, my friends—please respect them. They shouldn't have to suffer for my choices."

Kimball remained silent, his attention fixed on the document in his hands.

Knowing Kimball was unlikely to concede, Hilda bit back her anger and said, "I need to step out for a bit."

That elicited a reaction from Kimball, who replied indifferently, "Do as you please."

Hilda didn't give Kimball another glance. She hurried upstairs, grabbed her bag, and drove off.

She was unaware that Kimball had been holding the document upside down, nor did she catch the complex look in his eyes or notice the tube of pain-relief ointment on the sofa.

"Running around with unhealed wounds, you're getting more disobedient by the day," Kimball muttered irritably before tossing the ointment into the trash can.

Rushing back to her apartment, Hilda was greeted by an elegant figure at her door.

"Sheila?"

The person turned around at the sound of her name, but it wasn't Sheila—it was Aimee, wearing a look of ill intent.

Hilda's face fell. "What are you doing here?"

Aimee, arms folded, looked down at her with disdain. "Feeling confident, are we? Think you're untouchable because Mr. Preston backed you up once?"

"If you don't have anything else, I'll be on my way."

Hilda tried to ignore her, reaching for her keys to unlock the door.

"Wait!" Aimee suddenly reached out, blocking the doorway. "Who said you could leave?"

"What do you want?"

Aimee's lips curled into a sweet smile, but her words were anything but. "Dad wants to see you. Let's go to the James family."

"I won't go."

"That's not up to you," Aimee scoffed. "You were quite bold this afternoon, weren't you? The commotion you caused got Dad a scolding from the mayor. Do you think you can just walk away from this mess?"

"I told you, I'm not going," I insisted.

"You have no choice! Either come with me willingly and face the family's discipline, or — the bodyguards downstairs are ready and waiting. Do you really think you'll be lucky enough to have another Mr. Preston come to your rescue tonight?"

Hilda brushed Aimee's hand off the door and shot her a frosty glare before continuing, "If you're looking forward to tomorrow's headlines reading 'Deputy Mayor Illegally Detains Own Daughter,' by all means, invite the bodyguards up for a try."

"You refuse the toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit! Don't blame me for not being polite!"

With that, Aimee whipped out her phone and quickly dialed a number. But before she could speak, Hilda snatched the phone from her grasp and hurled it from the eighth floor. "Oh? How exactly do you plan to be impolite now?"

Fuming, Aimee's face turned a ghastly shade of pale, her features contorted with rage. She drew back her hand, poised to lunge at Hilda's throat.

Then, suddenly, the crisp sound of a camera shutter broke the tension.