I sneered at him outright this time. Nathaniel Miller, however, continued to stare straight ahead, utterly unruffled, and answered as though nothing had happened.“My father played ice hockey briefly in high school. Thanks to that, we learned how to handle a stick early on.”What on earth was he talking about?“We?”I caught on to the one word in his sentence and asked. He nodded without hesitation.“Yes. I have many younger siblings.”I suddenly remembered that the Millers had six children, and that he, the eldest, looked exactly like his father, Ashley Miller. In my silence, he added,“If it resembles a stick, you can use it for anything.”He sounded almost proud—and I couldn’t help but let out a short, incredulous snort.“Are you saying you learned how to beat people with a stick?”Nathaniel Miller replied calmly,“That’s part of the game.”Beating someone with a hockey stick would be a foul. You’d be ejected.But Miller didn’t seem bothered. If it were shameful, he wouldn’t have mentioned it.Teaching your son to strike people…unthinkable, yet with Ashley Miller’s notorious reputation, somehow believable.Ashley Miller. I’d never met him, but I’d seen his face in the media. Recalling the monikers—Satan, the Serpent who tempted Eve—I shivered. Nathaniel not only resembled his father physically but likely shared his ruthless nature.Could he really have taught young Nathaniel to swing a stick at people?Then it struck me: stick…cane. The very one he used.No, stop it.I frowned and shifted the subject.“I didn’t realize you were so close with your father.”It was a bizarre thing to say. I nearly laughed at my own absurdity—but his reply stunned me.“Close isn’t the right word.”He kept his gaze fixed on the road.“He probably didn’t want his hands on me.”His voice held a cynical edge that puzzled me. I stared at his profile: expressionless as ever, giving nothing away. From his face alone, I could guess nothing—not even whether to trust him.An ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) awkward silence fell. To avoid crossing a line, I forced my curiosity down and looked out the window. It wasn’t polite to pry into someone’s private life—not when we hardly knew each other.“If you have questions, you may ask.”His voice startled me. I turned back to him; he still didn’t meet my eyes.“It’s not every day you get such an opportunity.”He was right. How often would we sit side by side in a car, free to ask personal questions?Would it ever happen again?A fundamental question nagged at me, but curiosity won out. My disastrous day had left me exhausted; instinct overrode reason. After tonight, we’d likely never meet like this again.Yet every tempting offer conceals a trap. He must have some ulterior motive. I didn’t intend to bite so easily.“I’m not sure we need to have that conversation.”I took a step back, signaling I could finish the ride in silence. He let out a short laugh. I thought that was the end—until he asked,“Why did you go there in the first place?”His sudden question froze me. Catching me off guard seemed to be his specialty. I’d forgotten that Nathaniel Miller was renowned for dismantling opponents with a single, unexpected strike.“And you?”I deflected with a question of my own to buy time. He tilted his head, amused, but gave nothing away.“I went to meet a client.”“You?”I blurted, stunned. The idea of him coming to such a place to find clients sounded absurd—yet even “meeting a client” made little sense. He watched my reaction with amusement and asked,“Why does that surprise you?”I hesitated, then murmured,“It doesn’t fit.”“Nor do you.”His reply came without looking at me. He kept his eyes on the road, then offered,“Why not meet someone more…refined?”“Someone like you?”I scoffed—and, to my astonishment, he laughed out loud. The brief sound caught me off guard. He actually laughed? I stared, bewildered, as he continued with that same lilt of amusement,“There’s no one else like me—so you’ll have to meet me.”Even saying something so absurd, his tone remained impossibly elegant. I felt a twist in my gut and seized on his politeness as a flaw.“That refined manner doesn’t suit you.”It wasn’t baseless: his constant “please,” “would you mind,” and “much obliged” grated on me.Nathaniel Miller’s gaze shifted toward me. I tensed under his steady stare—and then he tilted the corners of his mouth and spoke.

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