Chapter 5

But the disparity in strength between men and women was overwhelming. Percival effortlessly captured both of Florence's wrists with one hand, pinning them above her head and pressing her entire body firmly against the back of the passenger seat.

The kiss, imperceptibly, changed in nature.

The lingering fruity wine fragrance between Florence's lips and teeth, mingled with her unique scent, acted like a fatal aphrodisiac, instantly igniting the fire that had lain dormant within Percival for so long.

He'd only meant to punish her reckless words, but once he truly touched her soft lips, he couldn't stop—as if he'd gotten a taste and craved more.

Percival's breathing grew ragged. His large hand traveled up Florence's slender waist, his rough fingertips brushing over the silk fabric, sending a tremor through her.

Tears of physiological response were forced from the corners of Florence's eyes. Humiliation spread through her chest. Just as his hand was about to tug at the precarious thin strap on her shoulder—

The phone in the storage compartment began vibrating violently, its soft, dedicated ringtone piercingly jarring in the cramped, charged atmosphere of the car.

That ringtone was like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the desire blazing in Percival's eyes in an instant.

His movements froze abruptly. Reason snapped back. Releasing his hold on Florence, he sat upright, took a deep breath, and reached for the phone.

The name "Yvaine" flashed on the screen.

Florence slumped against the seat back, gasping for breath, coldly watching as the man beside her—who'd been ravenous as a wolf the second before—softened instantly upon seeing that name.

"Yvaine, what's wrong?" Percival answered, his voice still rough with lingering desire.

"Percival..." Yvaine's fragile, tearful voice came through the line. "My car broke down on Willow Street. It's so dark here, not even a streetlight. I'm alone and so scared. Can you come get me?"

Percival's brow furrowed sharply. Without a moment's hesitation: "Don't be afraid. Lock the doors and wait in the car. I'll be right there."

Hanging up, Percival turned toward Florence in the passenger seat. The warmth in his eyes had completely cooled, reverting to his usual aloof, superior detachment.

"Get out," he said coldly.

Florence straightened her disheveled collar. At his words, she paused, turning to look out the window.

This was an undeveloped suburban stretch—desolate, with passing vehicles few and far between. Catching a ride here would be next to impossible.

"Percival, are you sure you want me to get out here?" Florence's tone was so calm it betrayed no emotion.

"Yvaine ran into trouble on Willow Street. I don't have time to take you back." Percival tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Call yourself a ride. Florence, stop playing these hard-to-get games. They only make me more disgusted."

Florence suddenly laughed. She laughed at herself for feeling humiliated moments ago. Facing a man who had no room for her in his heart—she wasn't even worthy of humiliation.

"Fine." She didn't argue. Didn't cling. She simply pushed the car door open. Her heels clicked sharply against the rough asphalt.

The door slammed shut.

Percival didn't spare her a second glance. He floored the gas pedal. The black Maybach tore through the night like a beast unleashed, leaving her behind with nothing but choking exhaust fumes.

The night wind was biting, cutting into her skin like knives.

Florence stood in her thin, wine-red slip dress, shivering violently in the cold.

She wrapped her arms around herself, walking aimlessly along the pitch-black highway. No streetlights. Only the pale moonlight stretched her lonely shadow long across the ground.

The last shred of attachment she'd held for this marriage crumbled to dust along with that distant Maybach.

She didn't know how long she'd been walking when the sound of a car horn honked twice behind her.

A low-key black Hongqi sedan slowed to a stop beside her. The rear window lowered, revealing a refined, steady face framed by gold-rimmed glasses.

"Florence?" The man's voice carried undisguised surprise.

Florence stopped, squinting in the headlights to see who was inside. She froze. "Professor Coleman?"

Sitting in the car was none other than her former doctoral advisor—a top medical authority both domestically and internationally—Flynn Coleman.

"What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, dressed like that and walking alone in a place like this?" Flynn frowned, taking in her purpling lips. "Get in the car."

Florence didn't hesitate. She opened the door and slid into the back seat. The heater was running at full blast. The driver considerately handed her a clean coat.

Florence wrapped the coat around herself. Her stiff body gradually began to thaw.

"Thank you," Florence said softly.

Flynn looked at his once most promising protégé, now reduced to such a wretched state, and couldn't help but sigh. His tone carried frustration. "Back then, you were the most talented student I ever taught. I pulled every string to get you a spot at the Mayo Clinic for advanced training. And what did you do? You threw it all away for a man. Gave it up without a second thought to be a housewife. And now? Is this what you got in return for sacrificing your career for love?"

Florence lowered her eyes, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

Yes. Three years as a full-time wife had not only eroded her pride but had nearly made her forget—she, Florence, had once been a celebrated prodigy in the medical world.

"Professor Coleman, I know I was wrong." Florence took a deep breath. When she lifted her head again, the confusion in her eyes had cleared, replaced by lucidity. "I've decided to divorce him."

Flynn's eyes flickered with relief. Then his expression turned serious.

"If you've come to your senses, don't waste your talent any longer." Flynn pulled a thick file from his briefcase and handed it to her. "Silverline Hospital recently took on an extremely difficult case involving a new rare disease. There's no precedent for curing it domestically yet. I'm planning to lead a specialized research team."

Florence's gaze fell on the file cover. The medical passion that had lain dormant for so long seemed to reignite in that moment.

"Florence, the team is still short a deputy director." Flynn looked at her, his gaze earnest. "I want you to come back. Join this project."

Florence's fingertips lightly brushed the edge of the file, feeling the texture of the paper.

She looked out the window at the night scenery rushing past. The Florence who had humbled herself into the dust for Percival was dead.

"Professor Coleman." Florence turned her head, her eyes steady and bright. "I'll seriously consider it. Give me two days to handle my personal affairs. I'll give you a satisfactory answer."