“I know Mr. Hughes. It would be discourteous to leave without a proper farewell.”
With that, he gently patted her hand, swung the door open, and stepped out.
Rosalynn, in haste, pushed her own door open and followed suit.
Brian wore a white shirt paired with black trousers, his stature tall and lean, exuding an aura of cool detachment.
His gaze fell upon a robust figure alighting from the vehicle, eyes dark and fathomless.
There he was!
Lyndon Fernandez!
What were the odds?
“Mr. Hughes, what a pleasure to see you again.”
Lyndon positioned himself before Brian, hand extended.
Clad in a sharp black ensemble, his presence was as commanding as Brian’s.
Brian met his handshake with a steady gaze.
“Ah, Mr. Fernandez. It’s been a while.”
The deserted road bore no other soul. Together, the two men, mirror images in height and build, composed a striking scenery.
Yet, underneath this tranquil facade, tension roiled.
Their handshake, seemingly composed, belied the strain in their arms, their muscles contesting in silence.
Their eyes locked, charged with an intangible friction.
Rosalynn’s brows creased at the sight of their prolonged grip.
“Brian, shall we go now?”
She harbored a fleeting fear that Brian might strike Lyndon at any moment .
Brian eased his grip, stepped back, and drew Rosalynn into his embrace.
“Mr. Fernandez, I appreciate you driving my wife. We’ll take our leave now.”
His declaration was both subtle and sovereign.
Lyndon offered a polite smile.
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