The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 35

Her senior-year spring was all fresh grass, birdsong, and new life pushing through.

It was the umpteenth day Clara had been chasing after Rhys.

Delivering water, blocking his path, pretending to bump into him by accident—she had used every trick in the book.

But Rhys was a total an ice king. He wouldn't even crack a smile.

Until one night, Simon claimed he had done a tarot reading predicting a romantic trend and dragged her to a bar to meet his "destined one."

The guy turned out to be a well-dressed player.

After a few drinks, he started putting his hands all over Simon and even called a few shady friends to block them in and force drinks on them.

Back then, Clara's temper was way hotter than it is now.

Without a word, she grabbed a bottle of Hennessy from the table and smashed it over the scumbag's head.

Liquor splashed, and glass shards flew.

Just as the gang was shouting that they were going to kill them, Clara was suddenly grabbed by the back of her collar, lifted off the ground, and pulled backward into a hard, broad chest.

She looked back, still in shock.

Rhys was dressed casually but stood straight, his expression cold and severe. Behind him stood several men exuding the same aura of authority.

"Police. Nobody move."

At that moment, Clara thought this man was devastatingly handsome.

A god descending to earth, a hero of the ages—he looked exactly like that.

Rhys happened to be at the bar for a small gathering with friends and hadn't expected to run into her.

The matter was resolved smoothly; the scumbag and his crew were taken away for booking.

Seeing Rhys staring gloomily at Clara, Simon immediately slipped away, claiming he was "leaving you some private space, don't waste my efforts."

Clara didn't dare say a word. She followed behind Rhys, keeping her head down.

Smashing that bottle had felt good, but now the alcohol was hitting her, combined with the adrenaline crash, and her legs were a bit weak.

Rhys said coldly, "Get in."

Clara obediently climbed in and buckled her seatbelt.

Rhys started the car, looking straight ahead. His side profile was sharp and cold, his jawline tight.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

Clara gave the name of her apartment complex, and Rhys didn't say another word the whole way.

She secretly glanced at him sideways, the grievance in her heart surging like a tide.

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