Nathaniel Miller looked down at me, speaking words I couldn’t tell were ill-tempered jokes or thinly veiled sarcasm—all while still smoking. I hated how calm he remained.“That’s incorrect. Completely.”I meant to unsettle him, but his expression didn’t change—he tolerated my insolence without so much as a flinch.Then I remembered how he’d likened me to a wildcat in Judge Regan’s chambers. Furious, I glared at him once more and turned to leave—an unspoken signal that I refused to engage further. But at that moment, the unexpected happened.“…!”Suddenly, Nathaniel Miller reached out. I nearly screamed, swallowing it down only by drawing in a sharp breath instead.I froze, eyes wide, heartbeat pounding in my ears. It felt as if that pulse were hammering on my eardrums. I managed to exhale only when his face came back into view.He stared at me with genuine surprise—apparently unprepared for my reaction.That couldn’t be right.I chastised myself for overreacting. Embarrassed, I stayed rigid, breathing shallowly, never taking my eyes off him—because what if he really did mean to attack?Miller stood still for a long moment, hand suspended in midair, as if waiting for me to calm down. Ridiculous thought—yet just as I was about to scoff at myself, he lowered his hand and, pointing, said:“My car is this way.”I was speechless again. I stared at him. He offered a faint, wry smile.“Didn’t you say you’d help me?”He added smoothly, “Even if you didn’t ask.”A sarcastic barb? He couldn’t be joking—so this was definitely a tease.“No—I mean…”“Prosecutor.”He cut off my protest and addressed me again. I caught a whiff of pheromones. His voice dropped into a velvet whisper.“Do you really think I’d force anything on an injured woman?”His words made me flush with shame. I’d rejected simple kindness. This was nothing more than ordinary courtesy—exactly what any decent person might offer.Could I even call him “decent”?Tossing the thought aside, I opened my mouth to refuse more firmly—only for him to speak again.“There’s no need to be so guarded. If you don’t want anything, I won’t do a thing.”His lips curved into a gentle tilt.“It would be unfortunate if you couldn’t use your other leg.”His logic was unassailable. Nathaniel Miller was offering pure, practical help to someone he’d seen collapse.It was incongruous—and oddly compelling. Yet trusting the man who’d just tried to rape me would be insane. Still, his pheromones [N O V E L I G H T] worked on me, and my resolve wavered. I was tired, injured…if I blacks out again, who knew what might happen?At that thought, practicality defeated pride.“If your kindness has another motive, I won’t stand for it.”It wasn’t much of a threat—my injuries left me worse off than he was.He chuckled, then turned and strode ahead, as if certain I’d follow.I watched his arrogant back for a moment. This was madness. But the desire to end this disastrous night overpowered my misgivings. I’d be home soon enough—and a taxi at this hour, alone and battered, was no better an option. He knew that, too—that’s why he led the way so confidently.Click-clack of cane on cobblestones echoed in the narrow alley as I followed, never once looking back.When we entered the paid parking garage, I wasn’t surprised to find a black Jaguar waiting. For a man like him, buying a new car every day would be child's play. I slid into the passenger seat and buckled up; Nathaniel Miller eased the car forward.The Jaguar glided through the dark streets with surprising smoothness—no reckless speeding, barely a sway around curves. I felt unmoored by how gentle his driving was.“…You drive yourself.”I glanced at his legs; competent hands held the wheel. He answered evenly.“Driving is still within my capabilities.”I frowned.“I wondered if you’d already healed and just use the cane as a prop.”It came out sarcastic—and half in genuine doubt—but he only gave me that inscrutable smile.“I don’t always keep a bodyguard by my side. I can protect myself just fine.”There was a hint of amusement in his voice. Did he find it entertaining? He added, still calm,“I told you—if you’d asked, I would have helped.”He repeated the same line, as if implying that my suffering was my own responsibility. What a bastard. I glared at him.“How? By blowing a whistle?”

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