Secrets of the Neglected Wife - Chapter 479

Chapter 479:

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The man, gripped by excruciating pain, would have screamed, but without a tongue and with blood gushing from his mouth, he fainted, succumbing to the agony.

“I can’t trust anyone else with these documents. The Mafia’s been tailing me lately, and I can’t even tell you how tense things have been,” Gordon said with a sigh. He cast a sharp glance at the wounded men on the ground, silently warning them to stay quiet.

Before they could react, shock overtook their faces. In one swift, fluid motion, Gordon dispatched the suited enforcers, severing their heads cleanly.

Despite the carnage, he continued speaking calmly into his phone, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “So, Allison, I want to deliver the documents to you personally.”

“Alright. Let’s meet at five, then. I’ll wait for you at the café near my office,” she replied in a neutral tone. Although she spoke calmly, a part of Allison felt the pull to head straight to Fleeingland.

At that moment, she caught an odd noise in the background—a faint sound of gasping and struggle, mixed with what could be the sound of blood dripping. She remembered Gordon’s mention of the Mafia just moments ago.

“Are you still being trailed by the Mafia?” she asked.

“No,” Gordon replied simply, keeping the darker details from her. Especially in front of Allison, he wanted to prove that he wasn’t the boy he once was. He was grown, capable of handling danger and safeguarding himself—and others.

Wiping the blood from his dagger with one of the dead men’s suit coats, he took meticulous care, leaving it spotless.

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“Don’t worry, Allison. Everything’s been taken care of,” he assured her with a broad smile. The idea of meeting her soon warmed his thoughts.

Two days later, the café was filled with soft music, creating a relaxed, tranquil atmosphere. Allison had arrived early and placed her order at the counter. “Two cappuccinos and a brownie,” she requested, choosing a quiet seat by the window.

As she settled in, the doorbell chimed softly. She looked up, expecting Gordon, but her gaze landed on someone else. It wasn’t Gordon.

“Kellan, Americano or latte?” Carole’s voice came. Although Kellan kept a respectful distance, she pretended to be oblivious to this and was overly warm. Kellan didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and met Allison’s gaze from across the room.

Their eyes locked, and suddenly, the surrounding noise seemed to quiet.

Carole, noticing Allison, quickly assumed that she’d only come here after hearing that she and Kellan would be here, perhaps pretending it was a chance encounter. Still, she managed a smile and greeted Allison. “What a surprise, Ms. Clarke! Fancy meeting you here.”

After the brief exchange, she turned to Kellan and said, “Why don’t we sit by Ms. Clarke? They’ve decorated that table with my favorite flowers, purple asters.”

The light purple petals with yellow centers bloomed beautifully, brightening the corners like mini sunbursts. In a rare moment of agreement, Kellan gave a low “hmm” in response, which Carole took as a small step forward in their relationship.

Under the sunshine pouring through the window, Kellan looked tall, his posture effortlessly poised. Allison sat near the same sunlit glow, and a familiar, rich woody fragrance lingered in the air around her—one she had crafted herself.

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