Love Unspoken

Quinn bit her lip as she looked at Alexander, who met her gaze with a piercing silence.

Oliver, growing increasingly agitated, interjected, " Abigail, can you just stop? It's their business, not yours."

"She's my friend. Her problems are my problems! I'm seeing this through. They have to get a divorce—" "Enough!" Oliver shouted.

The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the office, plunging the room into silence.

Oliver had struck Abigail with full force, leaving a visible mark on her face. Incredulously, she stared at Oliver, whose eyes burned with a mix of fury and a hint of guilt, his emotions too complex to untangle.This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

Quinn, shocked, watched Abigail. After a moment of hesitation, she wrenched herself from Abigail's grip. Abigail remained silent, watching Quinn's retreating figure with resignation.

Walking toward the door, Quinn faced Alexander and noticed Getty clinging to him tightly, as if fearing he might escape. With a wry smile, Quinn thought to herself that they were a match made in heaven-she was the one who didn't belong. Then, without looking back, she walked past them and out the door, leaving the drama and the tangled emotions behind.

As Oliver led Abigail away, they passed by Alexander. With a sneer, Abigail warned, "Alexander, you better not live to regret this."

Outside, the rain continued, a fine mist casting a spectral presence over the city. Getty followed Alexander at a distance, her lips pressed tightly together, sensing his anger.

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When they reached the parking lot, Alexander stopped abruptly. "You drive back alone," he commanded.

"Aren't you coming with me?" Getty reached for his hand. "Come over to my place. I'll make dinner."

"I've got things to handle. Just go." Alexander pulled his hand away and stepped into his car, leaving Getty standing alone as he drove off.

After leaving VX Games, Quinn boarded a city bus with no specific destination in mind, mirroring the aimlessness she felt in her life. As she touched her lower abdomen, she gazed out through the rain-streaked window, her thoughts distant. The bus would eventually reach its final stop, no matter how long the journey. The driver, noticing her, glanced back several times. The bus was nearly empty, yet the young woman stood throughout the ride. "Miss, this is the last stop," he finally called out.

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Snapping back to reality, Quinn nodded her thanks to the driver and disembarked.

She found herself in an old neighborhood, characterized by modest buildings no taller than eight or nine stories, with people bustling under their umbrellas.

Rain soaked her hair as she wandered, eventually pausing in front of a small spaghetti restaurant. It was late afternoon, and the place was almost deserted.

Noticing her hesitation outside, the owner approached with concern, mistaking her reluctance for worry about the cost. "Come in, you don't have to pay," he said kindly. Once inside, a steaming bowl of spaghetti was placed before her. Looking up at the owner's compassionate smile, Quinn's lips quivered and tears streamed down her face. Here, a stranger offered her warmth and kindness, a stark contrast to the deep wounds inflicted by those closest to her.