Catherine pressed her hand to her face, frozen for a moment. It was the same man from the hospital—the one who had made Lucca cry.
Thinking about being caught in such an embarrassing state again, and recalling her own words about being "addicted to being bullied," Catherine turned her gaze away, cheeks burning. She really had cemented the fact, over and over, that she could be bullied in front of him.
Next to her, Magee Channing's expression shifted from shock to an overjoyed smile as he greeted the man.
"Lord Washington… Lord Washington…"
Catherine was surprised—Channing actually knew this man. She had never heard of him before, though it wasn't shocking; she had never cared about the powerful and wealthy of Burg Eltz. Even if she hadn't left, her life had always been busy with work and studies—there had been no time to pay attention.
The man's aura, his clothes, everything about him screamed wealth and refinement. And Channing, with his sycophantic grin, clearly bowed before someone of status.
Channing chuckled nervously, trying to fill the silence.
"Lord Washington… what brings you here?"
The man's reply was a crisp, unamused snort. With the cigarette pinched between his fingers, he pointed at the restroom sign on the wall, then smiled coldly at Channing.
"Channing… do you really think I came to a place like this for fun? Or to watch you beat your daughter?"
Channing's face turned a pale, awkward green. His humiliation was palpable—he realized that everything just said between him and Catherine had been overheard. The thought that his plan to push his daughter toward that disgusting bank manager had been exposed only worsened his embarrassment. He could only laugh awkwardly, unable to respond.
The man ignored Channing completely. His gaze swept briefly over the girl hiding her face, then he strode away with long, confident steps.
As he passed Channing, he paused slightly. Channing plastered on a smile, trying to recover some dignity. But the man's deep, smooth voice cut through:
"Though I just realized… Channing's jewelry business really relies on selling his daughter to survive, huh?"
And with that, he walked off, leaving an echo of sharp disdain in the air.
All that was left for Magee Channing was the rigid, proud spine beneath his shirt… and the unmistakable air of disdain radiating from her.
His face wasn't just embarrassed—it was swollen purple with rage.
Catherine cast a glance at him, seeing the utter humiliation etched across his features, and then turned and ran.
Behind her, Magee Channing shouted, voice cracking with fury:
"Stand still, you little—!"
But Catherine ignored him completely, racing out of the restaurant without a backward glance.
It ends here, she told herself. The father-daughter bond with Magee Channing was over. Even if Renata didn't wake up tomorrow, even if she had no relatives left in this world, she could still live her life on her own terms.
She couldn't guarantee what Channing might do next. After the betrayal with Lucca, and now tonight's ordeal, Catherine knew she had to keep her distance from that entire family. One wrong move, and who knew if they'd truly betray her?
The cold autumn wind bit at her face, making the pain even sharper. She didn't know exactly how her cheek looked—she only knew it stung like fire, swollen and red.
The night was bitterly cold. Catherine let her long hair fall over the injured side of her face, tucking the other side behind her ear. She shivered slightly as she stood on the curb, waiting for a taxi.
Suddenly, a harsh beam of light hit her eyes. She raised a hand to shield herself and turned away, annoyed. Who drives around with high beams on at this hour?
When the light passed, she looked up—and a sleek black Mercedes had stopped in front of her. Its smooth, flowing lines and dark, commanding color radiated elegance tempered by authority. Just like its owner.
The window rolled down, revealing the profile of the man from the restaurant. Sharp features, firm jaw, exuding a calm, cold aura.
Amid the passing headlights of the city, his face seemed even more intense, sculpted by years of experience.
Catherine guessed he must be at least thirty. That kind of presence—the kind of gravitas only years could give a man—was a gift of time, something no young man could ever rival: composed, unshakable, experienced.
"Get in."
His voice was calm but firm as he looked at her, dark eyes unreadable.
Catherine froze, puzzled. She was the only one standing here. He clearly wanted her to get in—but why? They barely knew each other. At most, they had met once or twice. Why would he show her such… kindness?
She hesitated. His brows furrowed slightly, impatience creeping in.
"Not getting in? Waiting for your father to drag you back to that old man's bed?"
The words snapped her into motion. Catherine swung the door open and slid into the car without another thought. She instinctively glanced back toward the restaurant, half-expecting Channing to chase her.
As soon as she buckled her seatbelt, the car pulled away, and the window rolled up, shutting out the chaotic noise of the streets.
Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out, saw Channing's name, and immediately hung up before switching it off.
She knew exactly what he would say: scold her, order her to go back, or sweet-talk her into compliance. But she wasn't naive anymore. After everything she and Renata had gone through, Channing hadn't once offered real concern. She wouldn't waste her energy expecting anything from him again.
Life was finite, and some things—birth, aging, sickness, and death—were the only truths worth caring about.
By now, she had been through everything. Channing hadn't lifted a finger to help—not once. If that was how he acted as a father, then he no longer held any value in her life.
He had never given anything, yet he demanded everything from her. Why should he have the right?
If, back when Renata's illness was discovered, Channing had just done something—anything—even used his connections to find a skilled surgeon, she might not have had to watch his company teeter on the edge of ruin today. But he hadn't. Instead, he had listened to Tracy and Lucca, turning his back on them all.
If Channing could be ruthless and heartless, then so could she.
Why should she sacrifice her own marriage and her happiness just to keep Channing's company afloat, to let his family continue living in luxury and pride?
She switched off her phone, and the car fell into a serene silence.
Finally, Catherine glanced at the man driving beside her and murmured,
"Thank you…"
No matter his reasons, he had taken her away from that restaurant. That, alone, deserved gratitude.
His long fingers gripped the steering wheel with effortless control, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms.
Catherine's eyes caught a thick, bold ring on his right index finger—a piece that seemed better suited to an artist than a leader.
And the watch on his wrist, with its black leather strap, exuded elegance and authority.
They always said a man's watch reflected his identity and taste. Catherine, a jewelry designer, knew luxury when she saw it. That watch was no cheap trinket—worth at least a few hundred thousand.
This man… he was either incredibly wealthy or held immense power.
Ordinary people could never afford a timepiece like that.