Chapter 29

Chapter 29:
Candice bit her lip. Greyson must have guessed the password. She had been so busy with work that she forgot to change it.
Now he knew just how foolishly in love she was with him. At that moment, she felt so embarrassed she could hardly breathe.
She felt her past laid bare before him.
Turning her head, she tried to avoid looking at him. Nervousness tightened her chest, and her breaths came short.
“I’ve set up the Internet,” Greyson said softly, his thin lips barely moving.
“You can leave now,” Candice replied. Suddenly, she grew emotional and raised her voice. “Leave!”
Love was a gamble, and no one escaped unscathed. She didn’t want her pride and dignity trampled again.
Greyson stood rooted in place, silently staring at her back for a long moment.
He waited until she calmed down before saying, “The General Chamber of Commerce will hold an event next week. Many well-known foreign biotech experts will attend. I need you to go with me.”
Candice sneered. So that was why he called.
He had to come to her directly because she wasn’t answering his calls. The so-called network problem was just an excuse.
He needed her to attend the event with him as his fake wife.
“Fine,” Candice replied indifferently.
Greyson placed a car key on the table. “I bought you a Porsche today. I drove it here and parked it in the garage. You—”
Before he could finish, Candice interrupted him.
She glared into his eyes and scolded, “Greyson, why did you give me an apartment and a car? What am I to you? Although we signed an agreement, that doesn’t mean you can treat me like a kept woman.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Greyson said with a frown.
“It doesn’t matter whether you mean it or not,” Candice grumbled, eyeing the car key from the corner of her eye.
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Suddenly, a splitting headache hit her.
The scene of the car accident from three years ago flashed vividly in her mind.
The car screeched, flipped in the air, and came to a halt. Screaming and sobbing filled the air, with ambulance sirens blaring everywhere. She felt shocked, helpless, and despairing.
Blood covered the ground.
Her hands trembled uncontrollably. Her whole body shook, and her breath quickened.
Cold sweat broke out on her face, which paled.
She huffed, “Greyson, do you think I’ve never driven a car because I couldn’t afford one?”
Suddenly, Greyson realized what she meant.
She had PTSD.
He was shocked to realize he knew nothing about her. He had never tried to understand her in the past three years.
All he knew was that her parents had died—and she had seen them die right before her eyes.
He didn’t understand how deeply traumatizing that was for her.
She had always taken taxis or the subway—not because she didn’t want to drive, but because she couldn’t.
Moreover, it suddenly occurred to him that the hit-and-run driver who killed her family had been driving a Porsche.
He hurriedly took the car key back and slipped it into his pocket.
He saw her shivering and panting, and felt a sudden urge to hold her fragile silhouette. But his hand froze midair.
Slowly, he lowered his hand and left without another word.
He walked along the dull streets, watching his shadow under the street lamps.
So what if she had PTSD?
She had used some unscrupulous means to be with him.
She deserved everything that came her way.
He shook his head to clear his tangled thoughts.
His conflicted emotions lasted only a moment before he returned to his usual indifferent self.
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