Blind Date Turned Proposal

The last time he threatened her, he had blocked her path.

Arnold pressed down on the accelerator, wishing she would just shut up.

He had been awoken by a call from the front desk in the morning when his mind was still in a haze. He ended up driving out on his own, without a chauffeur. It was only then that he realized he had truly been outmaneuvered by Josie.

After traveling a certain distance, Arnold suddenly slowed down. He looked ahead and laughed. "What a day. So many things happened."

Josie looked ahead and was startled to see Dexter emerging from a hotel with Larry trailing behind him.

Her face stiffened slightly. It's a hotel... Did he go to meet Xanthe?

Arnold noticed her complexion changing rapidly and teased, "Gee, he wouldn't have gotten a room with someone, would he? How about I play detective for you?" Dexter's car shot off like an arrow released from its bowstring, while Arnold drove right up to the hotel entrance. Josie's eyes widened in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Get out!"

Arnold tossed the car keys to the parking valet before proceeding inside.

In reality, it wasn't that great of a hotel. At most, it was four-star.

Josie quickly caught up, grabbing his arm. "Even if he's gotten a room with someone, it has nothing to do with me. Let's go!"

"Indeed, it isn't fitting for him to stay in a four-star hotel."

Josie nodded vigorously. "So let's get going."

"But my curiosity is piqued even more!"

Arnold shrugged her off, walking up to the front desk. "Excuse me, which room did Mr. Russell who just left enter?"

The receptionist shook her head. "I can't disclose our guest's privacy to you."

Josie let out a sigh of relief.

In the next moment, Arnold mysteriously produced an identification from somewhere. "I am a police officer."

"Room 602. This is the keycard."

Josie was incredulous. She was about to expose the truth, but Arnold covered her mouth and led her directly toward the elevator.

"You've lost your mind. You actually forged documents!" Once inside the elevator, Josie shook him off.

He even wants to reduce his sentence by ten years, but with the way things are going, adding ten more years to his sentence won't be enough. "Don't you want to know why he came in?" Arnold hit the nail on the head with his question.Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

Josie immediately pursed her lips. It would be a lie if she said that she wasn't curious.

Room 602 was in the farthest corner of the corridor. Arnold stepped forward, swiped the keycard, and the door automatically opened.

Inside, it was quiet and peaceful, which left Josie somewhat flustered as she followed behind him.

The room wasn't large. Arnold took a few steps before coming to a halt. He let out a scoff. "So, this is how it is."

Josie looked over, only to be taken aback by the sight of a woman, aged over fifty, sitting on the ground, her face etched with despair. In her arms, she cradled a pile of shattered photographs. Had the woman not lifted her head, Josie would not have recognized her at all. She was Xanthe, who once possessed an unparalleled elegance.

Xanthe also recognized them. "How did you all get here?"

Arnold pulled out a chair and sat down directly. "Aren't you supposed to be enjoying your retirement in Wavery? What happened? Did your son bring you here to live a life of luxury?" He was quite eloquent. Every word he spoke was as sharp as a knife.

Xanthe glared at him, her eyes filled with resentment. "You once promised me you'd keep me safe for a lifetime."

"Didn't I manage to do it? You're still alive, aren't you?"

"Arnold!" Xanthe gritted her teeth. "I shouldn't have listened to you in the first place!"

"It was your own choice. There's no room for regret."

Xanthe closed her eyes, covering her face as she began to sob softly.

Josie stood to the side, observing the scene unfold before her like an outsider. She was filled with an indescribable emotion.

She bent down, picking up the shattered photo from the ground. Despite its condition, one could vaguely make out that it was a picture of a man.