A Proper Good Bye [2]

Once I was discharged from the hospital—three days after I woke up—I contacted Jennifer and arranged a dinner for two tonight.

Now, I'm about to step into my Ferrari after picking Jennifer up from her apartment's door.

"Wow… you're not trying to show off, are you?" Jennifer teases, admiration slipping into her voice as she eyes my car.

I chuckle. "I just figured you'd have a hard time riding my motorcycle in that dress."

I glance at her, taking in how breathtaking she looks. Tonight, she's wearing a calf-length peach dress that highlights every one of her features—her legs, waist, curves… and, of course, her breasts.

"You look stunning, by the way," I add, not hiding a single ounce of admiration in my voice.

Jennifer murmurs a soft "thank you."

I exhale, releasing some of the tension in my chest, and start driving.

Fifteen minutes later, we're already seated in the same restaurant where we had our first dinner. I sit beside her, pretending to focus on the menu, but my eyes keep glancing at her on their own. In the end, I simply order whatever she does, adding a bottle of wine for both of us.

After the waiter leaves, silence settles between us—an awkward one. Jennifer presses her lips into a thin smile, her gaze wandering absently around the restaurant.

Hesitantly, I reach out and touch her hand resting on the table. She flinches slightly in surprise.

"Sorry," I murmur, pulling back.

"N-No, it's okay," she stammers, then offers me a small smile.

Her smile gives me the confidence to reach for her hand again. This time, she only watches as my fingers intertwine with hers.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"For what?" she asks.

"For not telling the police about me," I answer, squeezing her hand gently.

She smiles. "That's the least I could do." Her eyes shift from our hands to meet mine. "You weren't just protecting me. You risked your life for me. You… you took a bullet for me," she says, her voice trembling. A tear slips from her eye.

"Hey, don't cry…" I whisper, reaching out with my other hand to rub hers gently. "I'm perfectly fine now, aren't I?"

She nods a few times before chuckling. "It felt like a nightmare, though…" Then she tilts her head, her brows knitting together. "How did you heal so fast?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe I had a Superman ancestor," I joke, glancing at her.

We chuckle at the same time.

"How did you escape?" I ask.

She takes a sip of water before answering, "I didn't. A squad of cops arrived not long after… maybe five minutes. I hadn't even managed to uncuff myself."

Her answer surprises me.

So, someone called the police. But who?

The waiter arrives with our dinner, and I reluctantly release her hand. Another silence falls between us as we start eating.

"I went to Mr. Waddle's— I mean, my father's—funeral today," she says, breaking the quiet.

"You did?" I ask. She nods.

"Did you see your twin sister?"

Another nod. "She's devastated. I don't blame her. She lost two people she loved dearly almost at the same time."

"Did she blame you?" I ask, wondering if her twin might know the truth.

"No. I think she's clueless about what her fiancé was involved in. She seems… too naïve, you know? She still acts like a child. When I met her, I felt more like her older sister than her twin," Jennifer says, sighing.

"That's why Waddleson gave his company to Radwansky," I remark.

Jennifer nods. "According to their lawyer, Rachel even gave Radwansky full control over her wealth."

"No wonder…" I murmur. "I bet he went into a rampage when he found out she was only inheriting half of her father's fortune."

"The lawyer said he was pressuring my father to change the will. But my father's best friend was the one handling it, so instead of caving, he was determined to protect it." Jennifer pauses. "He even put in a condition—Radwansky had to present my dead body as proof before accessing the inheritance."

"Wow…" I exhale, taking a sip of wine.

"So… are you leading the company now?" I ask.

Jennifer shakes her head while taking another sip of water. "I couldn't refuse the money. But since the will didn't say I had to lead or even be involved in the company, I was able to decline that part. My only role is as a 25.5% shareholder."

I whistle. Waddleson's telecommunications company is the largest in the country. Last year, Waddleson himself was ranked the sixth-richest businessman.

"So, you're a billionaire now," I tease.

"I guess so," she smirks before taking a bite of her chocolate lava cake. Her expression shifts instantly, her eyes lighting up.

"Oh… this cake is so delicious," she moans in pleasure.

I mimic her, taking a bite of my own chocolate lava cake, but honestly, I think she's far more delicious than this dessert. The thought of never having her again casts a shadow over my heart.

"What's wrong?" Jennifer notices the shift in my expression.

"Nothing," I say, forcing a smile to reassure her. She stares at me, long and deep.

"It just crossed my mind that… with that kind of wealth, you don't need to be a prosecutor. You don't even have to work for the rest of your life, you know," I say.

She chuckles. "Being a prosecutor has been my dream since I was a teenager. So, I'm definitely keeping my job."

"I see…" I respond, forgetting to mask my disappointment. For a moment, I let myself dream—if she weren't bound to justice, maybe things could have worked between us. But I guess that was just wishful thinking.

I'm about to take another bite of cake when I notice Jennifer still watching me.

"What?" I ask.

"I wish… you didn't do something illegal for a living. At least… not killing-people illegal," she sighs, then reaches for my hand. "I… really want to be with you. But…"

"I know," I cut in, pressing my lips into a thin smile.

"I don't do it because I want to," I add.

"Then why?" she asks.

"My body decided that's what I should do," I say, then tell her my story—from the moment I woke up in a dumpster to the day I finally chose to become an assassin. As expected, she's left speechless.

"Don't you feel bad… or guilty?" she asks once she snaps out of her daze.

I shrug. "I don't feel anything," I reply casually. "But if it makes you feel any better, I only kill those who deserve it. That's why I refused to kill you in the first place."

She nods, still lost in thought.

"So… are you the one who murdered Mr. Chekhovsky?" she asks after a few minutes of silence.

I smirk. "I won't tell you that, Miss D.A.," I tease.

I expect her to laugh, but she only gives me a sad smile. I twine my fingers with hers, and she squeezes back.

"You see… for you, I'm willing to ignore your past," she says softly. "But I can't ignore the future. I can't pretend to be blind to what you do. And you… what kind of relationship would this be if you had to lie or hide things from me all the time?"

"I know," I whisper.

I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it gently. "That's why… I don't want you to be my girlfriend. That's why I want you to have your life back. To be normal. To be happy."

Her eyes well up with tears.

"Don't cry. Why don't you have some wine, baby? You haven't touched your glass tonight," I say, reaching for the bottle.

She covers the top of her glass with her hand. "No, thanks. I need to keep my mind sober tonight."

I nod in understanding, then steer the conversation toward lighter topics. We talk about everything except us. I order gelato for both of us, and we take our time, savoring the dessert, laughing in between bites.

Eventually, the restaurant prepares to close, forcing us to end our dinner. I deliberately drive slowly, stretching the last moments we have together as much as I can. But still, we arrive at her apartment building just twenty minutes later.

"Thanks for tonight," Jennifer says, reaching for the door handle.

"W-Wait… I'll walk you to your door," I say quickly, unbuckling my seatbelt and stepping out.

She waits for me beside the car. I lock it before walking beside her in silence. I reach for her hand, and she doesn't pull away.

"This is it," she murmurs gloomily once we reach her door. Leaning against it, she exhales deeply. "I want to ask you to come in, but… I'm afraid."

"No, you're right. It's better if we say goodbye here," I agree.

I take both of her hands in mine, pressing them close to my chest. My eyes lock onto hers, already shimmering with unshed tears.

"I…" My throat tightens. "I will never forget you," I manage to say, my voice hoarse.

"I must be that good, huh?" she jokes through her tears.

I chuckle. "You are. And not just in bed," I tell her. "You're an amazing woman—the whole package. I'm lucky to have known you."

Her sobs intensify, and I use my thumb to wipe away her tears.

"I… I'm glad… to have known you, too," she chokes out.

She takes my hand and kisses my fingers softly. "And… and… I'm glad… you were my first."

A gentle smile tugs at my lips. I press a kiss to her forehead. "Be good, baby," I whisper before kissing both of her hands. Then, with great reluctance, I let go.

I turn away, ready to leave.

But then, she grabs my hand.

I turn back to face her.

"I love you, Scott Bennet," she says, her voice trembling.

Before I can respond, she pulls me toward her.

"I love you, too," I whisper before capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss.