The Stewardess He Rejected Is The Billionaires Wife Chapter 2

I climbed into a passing cab, dripping wet.

The blast of heat inside made me shiver, and the next moment, my stomach began to spasm violently.

A sudden cold sweat drenched my back.

I doubled over in the back seat, the pain forcing a familiar memory to the surface: the rainy night five years ago.

My mother lying in a pool of blood.

Sienna, the driver who hit her, panicked and blocked the ambulance, screaming about a staged accident. She single-handedly delayed life-saving intervention by the most crucial ten minutes.

And Owen? He had used every connection the Sinclair heir had to smother the scandal. It was ultimately classified as a simple “traffic accident.”

Afterward, they had the audacity to try to placate me with a check stained with my mother’s blood.

My phone buzzed, dragging me back to the present.

The screen showed a new WeChat/text request: Owen Sinclair.

The accompanying message read: “You’ll catch a cold soaking wet. I’m outside your building.”

I glanced out the window. That glaring Maybach was indeed parked outside the dilapidated apartment complex I rented.

I ignored it, paid the driver, and headed straight for the 24-hour pharmacy on the corner.

Just as I got my stomach medicine, I turned and was instantly cornered.

Owen’s towering figure loomed over me. He was holding a thermal container filled with the hot rice porridge from the place I used to love.

His brow was deeply furrowed. He softened his tone, yet it was edged with impatient pity.

“Maya, stop torturing yourself in this kind of slumming. ”

“Just apologize, come back to me, and I’ll set you up with an apartment that’s a hundred times better than this.”

I looked at him, then took the thermal container of hot porridge.

He thought I had finally given in.

Instead, I raised my arm and threw the porridge, container and all, with accurate aim into the nearby public trash bin.

“Maya Thorne!”

His rage was instant, the veins bulging. But he violently suppressed it, the fury finally dissolving into a weary sigh.

“When are you going to stop being so sharp?”

I pointed a finger at his chest, every word heavy with pain.

“The day you shielded a killer, that was the end of us.”

Owen’s eyes flickered wildly. He took a step forward, trying to grab my shoulders.

“Sienna was a victim, too. She was just terrified…”

Slap!

The sharp sound of the strike echoed loudly in the quiet rain.

I had used every ounce of my strength. His face snapped to the side, a clear, red imprint of my fingers blooming on his cheek.

He froze, clearly never having expected me to resort to violence.

Just then, his phone’s video call ringtone cut through the air.

Sienna’s tear-streaked face appeared on the screen, crying that she was dizzy and felt unwell.

The anger and conflict in Owen’s eyes were instantly replaced by alarm.

He hastily hung up the phone, cast me one last look—a complexity I couldn't read—and then his voice was ice.

“You are impossible.”

“Maya, don’t ever ask me for help again.”

Watching the taillights of the Maybach drive decisively away, I finally lost my strength. Clutching my aching stomach, I slowly crouched down on the wet sidewalk.

My phone gave a soft chime in my pocket, the screen lighting up with a new message.

From the contact labeled L: “Off work yet? I’m coming to get you.”

A faint warmth, like a weak current, flowed back into my freezing heart.