Stella looked over at him. "As long as you're a good guy in my book, that's all that matters. I couldn't care less what anyone else thinks."
People only saw the curated, ruthless facade Kyson wanted them to see. She saw his true character, and she rarely misjudged people.
She had originally targeted him to be her proxy because he was the second son of Bay City's wealthiest family—meaning he had no pressure to inherit the family empire.
He had infinite capital, endless free time, and serious local influence. He was the perfect candidate.
After selecting him, she ran a deep background check, confirmed he had the ambition to build something massive, and initiated her plan.
The drinking contest and the pool game? Completely orchestrated. But the near-fatal street race had nothing to do with her. She drew the line at orchestrating near-death experiences.
Saving his life was pure coincidence. She had just been at the hospital with Norma that day. She hadn't been waiting in the wings for a tragedy.
Clearly, fate had ordained their partnership.
Kyson smirked playfully. "Don't stare at me like that while I'm driving. If your gorgeous eyes distract me and I crash, I'm not taking responsibility."
Having a woman this stunning stare at him felt like an occupational hazard.
Stella rolled her eyes. "Please. You're an ex-professional street racer. Driving a luxury sedan in light traffic is child's play."
"Don't remind me. I still have PTSD from that crash."
Ever since the accident that nearly put him in a body bag, he hadn't touched the underground racing circuit.
It was way too dangerous. He liked breathing too much.
Stella tilted her head. "So you really never went back to the tracks?"
"Nope. My life is worth more than an adrenaline rush."


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