Chapter 795

The man in the baseball cap panicked. "That's a lie!"

A young girl who looked barely thirteen stepped forward. Though she tried to keep her composure, her voice shook as she pointed at him in front of the reporters.

"That's him! He's a murderer. To keep his project going, he sacrifices one life every year and covers it up as an accident. My father was a foreigner with no family here—so he killed him!"

The reporters erupted into murmurs. The man's face paled. His accomplices exchanged nervous glances and tried to slip away.

But before they could, Bennett and a team of security blocked their exit.

The press conference had taken an explosive turn. While the reporters were still absorbing the victims' families' accusations, Nathan Blackwood quietly scooped Evelyn Sinclair into his arms and slipped out through a side door. By the time anyone noticed, they were already gone.

Pressed against Nathan's chest, Evelyn inhaled his familiar scent—warm, masculine, and infuriatingly comforting. She wanted to scream, but the chaos inside kept her silent.

The moment they were outside, she struggled. "Put me down, Nathan!"

His arms tightened. His expression was dark, unreadable. "Stop moving."

He'd been losing his mind these past few days. Ignored calls. Unanswered messages. He knew she was still furious with him—that's why he'd come.

And when he saw that water bottle flying toward her, something inside him snapped.

A black Range Rover idled at the curb. Nathan opened the door and lowered her inside with surprising gentleness.

Evelyn's temper flared the second he leaned in. "Get out! I don't need your help!"

Nathan stilled. A slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips. "How exactly are you leaving?"

Her right leg was fractured. Walking even a few steps would be agony.

Evelyn seethed. He was doing this on purpose—taking advantage of her weakness. Even though he'd just saved her, she felt no gratitude.

Not when he didn't deserve it.

Nathan used her silence to his advantage, sliding in beside her and shutting the door. As he turned, Evelyn caught sight of his soaked shirt clinging to his back. The water bottle must have burst open when it hit him.

A flicker of guilt twisted in her chest—but before she could speak, a hesitant voice came from the front seat.

"Ms. Sinclair... long time no see."

Theodore Winslow—Nathan's ever-loyal assistant—looked like he wanted to disappear. If Evelyn knew he'd helped orchestrate this little "rescue," she'd skin him alive.

Her eyes narrowed. "Theodore. What a surprise."

"If you'd prefer, I can—"

"No need." Her tone was icy.

Nathan leaned back, his gaze cutting to the front. His voice was a low command.

"Drive."