Love Unspoken

Throughout the day, Galen had sought Alexander on several occasions, yet their paths never crossed.

As the day drew to a close, Quinn diligently tidied her workspace. Her fingers brushed against the cold, hard cash in her pocket, a meager sum of thirteen dollars. It was the same amount Orion had generously lent her the previous day, his own pockets equally light.

Rather than indulging in the luxury of a taxi, Quinn opted for a more frugal route. She navigated a shortcut to the bus station, each step echoing her resolve to save money.

Upon reaching her destination, she boarded a bus bound for the hospital, her IV treatment beckoning. The treatment concluded around nine, and she was fortunate enough to catch the last bus home.

Her journey led her back to Thunderbird Canyon. From the bus stop, her home nestled in the residential area of the canyon was a twenty-minute walk away.

Halfway through her trek, the sky began to weep a gentle rain. She unfurled her umbrella, shielding herself from the droplets as she continued her walk back to the villa. The lights of the familiar house twinkled in the distance, a beacon in the night.

However, the main gate was locked, barring her entry.

Quinn found herself rooted at the entrance, her gaze locked onto the house. Courage seemed to elude her, leaving her questioning the nature of her relationship with Alexander.

they still a couple on the brink of divorce? Or were they more like siblings? The latter thought was laughable at best. She should have been summoned to sign the divorce

deliberations, Quinn was jolted from her thoughts as the door to the villa creaked open. Startled, she quickly folded her umbrella and sought refuge behind a stone pillar near the entrance. The

it. Two figures emerged from the house: Alexander

Getty who accepted it and lingered in the yard. He then retreated to the garage, soon reappearing in a sleek Mercedes. Getty folded the umbrella and

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before Quinn's eyes, leaving her in a daze. She stood alone in the rain, the car's passing leaving her drenched and splattered with mud. Her new clothes bore the brunt of the assault, now stained and sullied. Mud smeared her face, only to be washed away

she was transformed into a sodden figure, her hair

the entrance, her destination suddenly

the car, Getty's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching

that Alexander might have seen Quinn's figure in

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