Chapter 563 Stolen Sips and Subtle Tricks
“Wyatt,” Madam Mary said, her voice sharp with emotion. “You must’ve seen the news today. That Morgan–he’s completely out of control. Even I, his own grandmother, wanted to beat him to death when I saw what he did!” She huffed angrily. “Don’t you dare clean up his mess this time. Let the cops lock him up for ten days or two weeks. Let him finally understand what consequences mean! Make him see that no one–except you–has ever spoiled him!”
Yunice gave a dry, mocking smirk. The old woman sure knew how to play her cards–retreating in order to advance. She was hoping Wyatt would give Morgan a slap on the wrist, feel satisfied, and still end up stepping in.
Yunice stayed silent, standing with her back to Wyatt, watching the absurd parade of reporters nearby.
Wyatt, still looking at her, spoke into the phone. “Don’t worry. I won’t get involved this time.”
“…Wyatt,” Madam Mary began.
“I’ve got something to do. I’m hanging up.” Wyatt ended the call.
On the other end, Madam Mary clutched her chest. A wave of dread swept through her, leaving her breathless. That sinking feeling only confirmed what she feared–this time, Wyatt might really let Morgan fall.
Meanwhile, Yunice had already walked away and blended into the crowd behind the reporters. The obvious, out-in-the-open journalists were chatting among themselves, waiting to pounce on anyone coming out of the station in hopes of squeezing out a fresh quote–maybe even score a headline. But those were low- effort tactics. At best, they’d get a polished press statement. Yunice turned her gaze toward the ones hiding in trees, camouflaged in bushes, sneaking in under cover. Those were the real pros–the ones chasing firsthand intel.
Just then, her hand suddenly warmed. Wyatt had taken her hand in his palm, then slipped it into the pocket of his long coat along with his own. Eyes scanning the area, he said, “Looks like this’ll be a long night.”
Yunice didn’t move. Her hand stayed in his pocket, but she turned her gaze away from his profile and said with a scoff, “What could you possibly learn by waiting here? You’re just trying to mess with me, aren’t you?”
Wyatt replied calmly, “Ever heard of cutting in line? Let others do the hard work–we swoop in and take the prize.”
Yunice followed his gaze toward a police vehicle that had just arrived. The door opened, revealing five or six young men in handcuffs, shirts stained with blood. They looked like they’d been arrested for a group fight.
Yunice raised a brow. Were they trying to infiltrate the station from the inside? The fighters were taken in.
Outside, the reporters were still chattering away, exchanging mockery, sarcasm, and backhanded compliments like it was a sport. Yunice found it oddly entertaining.
The only downside was the cold. Her feet were freezing. She had on little leather shoes, and within minutes, her toes had gone numb in the winter night air. Her eyes flicked down to where her hand was tucked into Wyatt’s coat pocket. So warm. If only she could sneak her frozen feet into the heat of his waistline…
She noticed Wyatt move, and quickly turned her gaze away!
“Here.” Wyatt held out a steaming can of pear juice–label removed, lid popped.
Yunice blinked. Where had that come from? She looked him up and down. How had she not noticed him carrying something that big and hot?
Wyatt said, “If you don’t drink it now, it’ll get cold.”
Without thinking too much, Yunice took it. She’d barely taken two sips when a woman nearby began rummaging through her bag, shouting, “Hey! Where’s my pear juice?! Who took my pear juice?!”
Yunice froze, staring down at the warm can in her hand. As the woman’s voice rose, the juice suddenly felt like a live grenade. Wyatt! You lunatic–you stole this for me?!
The woman sniffed the air, and her gaze snapped toward Yunice like a heat- seeking missile.
Panicked, Yunice grabbed Wyatt and buried her face in his chest.
“Ah–” Wyatt hissed, stumbling back.
Yunice had wedged the can of juice between them, trying to hide it. But she moved too fast–the can tipped and spilled right onto Wyatt’s shirt, soaking his abdomen. She clung to him, giving him frantic side-eyes. She could handle death–but not public humiliation!
Their commotion had already drawn the woman’s full attention. Her gaze swept over both of them like a radar scanner. She sniffed again and slowly crept toward Yunice.
Wyatt, pressed so close, could hear how fast her heart was racing. The corners of his mouth twitched upward. He pulled her even closer.
The woman definitely suspected her–but one look at the tall man beside Yunice made her hesitate. She was clearly intimidated. After a few tense seconds, the woman slapped her forehead. “Oh! Wait–I put my pear juice in my other bag!” She crouched down and rummaged through a different bag near her feet, eventually pulling out a different bottle of pear juice, clearly from a different brand.