Chapter 94: The Woman He Likes

Was she happy? Of course. Summer had finally opened her heart to a new relationship.

But was she worried? Without a doubt. Summer was the kind of foolish woman who loved with her whole heart and soul, utterly devoted once she gave her feelings away.

Yvette sighed, her tone unusually serious. “Summer, Fraser isn’t just any man. He’s the bossman of the Graham family. Do you have any idea how many women in Havenbrook are dying to climb into his bed? If it’s just a fling, then fine, enjoy yourself. After all, if you manage to sleep with a man like Fraser, it’s not like you’re getting the short end of the stick. But precisely because of that, you’ve got to protect your heart. Otherwise, the day you two break up, you’ll cry yourself to death.”

“It won’t happen,” Summer said softly. She shook her head slowly, tightening her grip around the gift box as if to steady herself. It shouldn’t happen… Right?

Yvette shot her a glance and snorted, “It better not. You’re not like me, you know. I’m the type who can let go easily.”

Summer could not help but laugh. “And how do you manage that?”

Yvette lifted her chin proudly. “Because I’ve always known how beautiful a forest can be. I’d never let myself fall for just one tree.”

Originally, Summer had planned to give Fraser the gift as soon as she got it. But after Yvette’s kind reminder, she hesitated.

On her drive home, she tapped the button on her car’s radio, hoping to break the unsettling silence in the vehicle. And then, suddenly, a familiar, lazy male voice drifted from the speakers. Her hand froze in place.

It was Fraser. He was doing an interview. He was steady, confident, and composed as he laid out the future strategy for the Graham Group. His voice was casual yet captivating, with a faintly languid tone that made Summer’s ears itch.

As the interview progressed, the reporter asked, “Mr. Graham, before we wrap up, may I be bold and ask a personal question?”

Fraser gave a nonchalant hum.

The reporter chuckled. “In your office, there’s a photo on your desk. A little girl and a dog. Could she be… your childhood sweetheart?”

On the other end of the radio, there was a sudden silence. A long one. Summer’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as the stillness stretched. Her heart was pounding as if it already knew the answer.

After what felt like an eternity, his deep, magnetic voice returned. “She’s not my childhood sweetheart,” Fraser said quietly. “But she’s the woman I like.”

The words had barely fallen when Summer froze in place. Her mind went blank.

It was not until a massive truck barreled toward her that Summer snapped back to reality. With a gasp, she slammed her foot on the brake pedal. But it was too late.

The harsh screech of tires ripping against asphalt filled the air, immediately followed by a sickening crash as metal collided with metal. The impact threw Summer forward with brutal force, slamming her against the steering wheel.

At that critical moment, the airbag burst open like a flower blooming in an instant, cushioning her and holding her tightly in its protective embrace.

It was a long while before Summer finally lifted her head, dazed. A searing pain radiated from her forehead, and her mind swirled in dizzy confusion. Sharp, stabbing aches pulsed through her body with every breath she took.

Outside the car window, a large, burly man with a shaved head was pounding aggressively on the glass.

Summer took a deep breath, her fingers trembling as she touched her swollen forehead. With effort, she unfastened her seatbelt, pushed open the door, and stepped out of the car.

The truck driver was livid, his face twisted in anger as he stormed over. “What the hell are you doing?! Do you even know how to drive?!”

Summer forced herself to stay calm, swallowing down the pain clawing at her insides. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

The bald man’s expression shifted the moment he got a good look at her. A beautiful woman. His gaze flicked to the pristine white Millénaire she had been driving, calculating. And then his lips curled into a sleazy smirk.

“Pretty girl, if saying sorry was enough, why would we need the police?”

Summer followed his gaze, glancing at the scene of the crash. It was a remote road, isolated. Her Millénaire was a mess. The front end was crushed, the sleek lines bent out of shape. The man’s truck, however, seemed practically untouched. He stood there, solid as a rock.

By the rules of the road, Summer had the right of way. She was going straight, but the truck had swerved out of nowhere, cutting her off with a sudden turn. According to traffic laws, turning vehicles were supposed to yield to those going straight.

Still, Summer was not entirely blameless. She had been distracted and had not noticed the danger in time to slow down. If this went to the police, it was not clear who would bear the greater fault.

But now that her mind was clearer, she stayed composed. “What do you want?” she asked evenly.

This woman was dressed in an elegant pale mauve Couture Charade dress, which alone probably cost tens of thousands of dollars. And the Millénaire she was driving? Easily worth over seven hundred thousand dollars.

The bald man thought he had stumbled upon an easy mark and wasted no time naming his price.

“I’m not feeling so great right now,” he said with an exaggerated groan, patting his chest. “And there was cargo in my truck. Because of you, I can’t deliver it on time. That’s a loss. Then there’s the injury, the stress you’ve caused me…” He clicked his tongue. “You need to compensate me. At least 27 thousand dollars.”

Summer stared at him like he had just told her the sky was green. This man was not injured in the slightest. His truck was practically intact. Even if she generously calculated his day’s lost wages, it would not come close to two hundred thousand dollars. And yet here he was, trying to extort her for an outrageous sum.

27 thousand was not a problem for Summer.