Love Unspoken

Quinn bit her lip, rolling her eyes in frustration. Her fingers found a lighter tucked away in the dashboard, which she quickly snatched up. Locating some tissue, she rolled it into a makeshift torch and sparked the lighter. Soon, tendrils of smoke began to curl out of the window, dancing into the night air.

A man standing nearby, his figure silhouetted against the car window, caught a whiff of the smoke. His senses alerted, he turned his attention to the vehicle, his brows furrowing in suspicion. "Who's smoking with the windows rolled up?" he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.

His suspicion grew as he laid a hand on the car's bonnet, finding it cool to the touch. The engine hadn't been started. With a growing sense of unease, he circled back to where Quinn was trapped, rapping on her window with two fingers. Quinn reacted instantly, her hand slamming against the glass in response. The sound echoed in the man's ears, prompting him to ask, "Is someone in there?"

Quinn's mouth opened, but no sound emerged. She could only continue to pound on the window, her fist a blur against the glass. The smoke from her makeshift signal thickened the air inside the car, causing her to choke.

The man paused, straining his ears to confirm the presence of someone inside. His gaze fell on the car's emblem, causing him to hesitate before resorting to smashing the window. "I'll check whose car this is, wait for me!" he called out to the car before spinning on his heel and rushing into the nearby hotel.

outside? The plate number

hung in the air, met with silence as all eyes turned toward him. The room buzzed with speculation about the car's owner. "Whose car is that?" "Mine is a Maybach, but I don't have that plate number." "Could it be his, maybe?" The crowd's collective gaze turned

and ask?" someone suggested. The young man in question was none other than Preston Getty, the youngest son of the prestigious Getty family.

He dashed upstairs, flung open the door to the VIP room, and

him, his expression unreadable. Preston's countenance shifted, his hand instinctively reaching out to grab Alexander's sleeve.

he? If he did, how could she explain her presence when she showed up at the event? "Preston, stop causing trouble. How could there be someone in Alexander's

someone knocking on the car window! Go check if you don't believe me!" Preston insisted, his voice laced with