Chapter 627

Vincent halted at the threshold, resisting the urge to step inside. He lingered in the corridor instead, his figure still and silent, eyes carrying a weight that hinted at the storm beneath his composure.

Just now, Hannah had moved with startling precision, her every motion sharp and decisive, wasting neither thought nor second. The dagger had flashed in her grasp as she struck at Rodney-swift, merciless, and laced with a ferocity that shocked even the air around her.

Yet, as Vincent observed her, something inexplicable had coursed through him-a rush of adrenaline that was both disturbing and intoxicating.

A fragmented image flickered in his memory-dim surroundings, Hannah again clutching something metallic and glinting, her expression carved with desperation and fierce resolve, her gaze fixed on a man's lower body.

He faintly remembered he had surged forward, wrapping an arm around her from behind, shielding her sight with his palm while whispering close to her ear, "Don't look."

That recollection dissolved as soon as it surfaced, leaving behind nothing but the echo of ache and the lingering weight of protectiveness that gripped his heart.

His focus returned to Hannah before him, steady, unflinching, the edge of her profile lit with determination.He could feel his own pulse hammering uncontrollably, thudding against his ribs like a confession he couldn't voice.

At that instant, Vincent saw a side of her he'd never truly noticed before-a side that was dangerously magnetic, commanding, and alive with a dark kind of grace. Uncompromising. Fearless. Unforgiving. It dawned on him that this might be the first time he'd genuinely seen Hannah.

Derek stood nearby, frozen by what he'd witnessed. His breath caught as he sneaked a cautious glance toward Vincent. Vincent's face had become unreadable-calm to the point of menace, his eyes veiled beneath a chilling composure that revealed nothing. Unease tightened in Derek's chest. Panic began to creep in. Was Vincent displeased by Hannah's ruthlessness? Did he perhaps even fear her?

Trying to salvage the situation, Derek murmured hesitantly, "Mr. Jones, Ms. Scott usually isn't like this.She's actually very level-headed. Rodney just... He pushed her too far this time. She lost her temper, that's all."

Vincent said nothing. He didn't even glance at Derek-his attention fixed wholly on Hannah.

Seeing that Vincent remained silent, his expression still dark and unreadable, Derek surmised that Vincent was angry. He fell quiet, convinced that any further explanation might only make things worse.

Then, Derek's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down, his face shifting slightly as he saw the name flashing on the screen. Stepping aside, he answered in haste. Moments later, he returned, lowering his voice as he reported, "Mr. Jones, Rodney's father-Fred Griffin, the chairman of Griffin Group-just called.He'd like to arrange a meeting with you about his son's situation."

Vincent finally tore his gaze from Hannah, turned smoothly, and began walking away. His tone was devoid of inflection as he replied, "Tell him to pick the location."

Derek blinked in surprise before rushing after him. "Mr. Jones, aren't you going to go inside and check on Ms. Scott before you go?" He'd assumed Vincent would at least speak to Hannah before leaving.

Without breaking stride, Vincent responded flatly, "I didn't come here for her."

But inside, his composure was unraveling. A confusing storm of emotion churned beneath the surface-desire, tension, and a rawN, unfamiliar pull that unsettled him deeply. He needed distance-space to think, to breathe, to regain control.

As Vincent's figure disappeared down the corridor, Derek exhaled a silent sigh. Things were spiraling.Whatever progress had been made the night before seemed to have dissolved completely, leaving behind nothing but strain and silence between Vincent and Hannah.

The meeting between Vincent and Fred was set in motion later that day, at an exclusive private club tucked discreetly behind a line of towering cypress trees.

Vincent arrived late, as if time itself bowed to his schedule.

Fred, who had been waiting nervously, rose the instant Vincent entered, his ingratiating smile already in place. "Mr. Jones, you're finally here. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Vincent took the seat at the head of the table, expression unreadable, his silence commanding the room far more effectively than words.

At Fred's clap, the door opened to reveal a group of young women, dressed proyocatively and smiling with feigned sweetness. They drifted toward Vincent, laughter delicate but hollow.

The air shifted instantly-tense, electric. Vincent's cold gaze sliced across the room before fixing on Fred.His voice, sharp and frigid, broke the silence, asking, "WVhat is the meaning of this, Mr. Griffin?"

Fred's grin faltered, panic flashing behind his eyes."Ah-Mr. Jones, you don't like them? I can have them replaced with someone more... suitable."

"Stop wasting my time," Vincent said, his tone cutting clean through the room's air. "Say what you came here to say. I don't indulge in theatrics."