Gripping the steering wheel, Bonnie kept her eyes glued to the road, trying her best to sound completely casual.
"Quentin, the person we're meeting later is Vivian. We'll just play it by ear when we get there."
She assumed Quentin would pick up on her subtle hint, proud of how dedicated she was to creating opportunities for the two of them to interact.
However, the moment the man beside her heard that name, his brows furrowed tightly.
"How do you know her?"
Quentin's voice was low, carrying a faint, unmistakable edge of coldness.
Thinking he was worried Vivian might misinterpret their relationship, Bonnie rushed to explain, "Don't worry, we didn't talk about anything else. I just asked her for a favor."
Quentin's expression didn't soften. His dark eyes narrowed, radiating a subtle sense of danger.
"Did you approach her?"
"No, she came to me."
Bonnie shook her head frantically, terrified he might think she had ulterior motives.
"I happened to desperately need a specific medication, and she had the connections, so we arranged to meet. But she already knew about us. Didn't you tell her?"
Bonnie shot him a curious sideways glance.
Quentin remained silent.
He had never mentioned a single word about Bonnie to Vivian.
But given that woman's sharp mind, she had likely figured it out the moment she bumped into Bonnie outside Parrish's hospital room.
"She's not the same kind of person as you."
Quentin spoke, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.
"Don't interact with her again. If you need help, come to me directly."
Bonnie's fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
She automatically interpreted his words about them "not being the same kind of person" as a reference to their social classes.
Vivian was an untouchable, high-society heiress, while she was just a fake billionaire's wife.
She didn't belong in the same world as Quentin or Parrish.
"Got it. I'll be more careful next time."
Bonnie lowered her eyelashes and murmured her agreement.



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