"It's okay. If we don't get the part, we don't get it. The worst that can happen is they'll find someone else… It's no big deal. We can still try again with Moira Morton. We'll still have a chance if we ask Don Joyce to put in a good word for us…" Serena Lockwood said comfortingly as she helped her fallen sister to her feet.
Sean Quinn, who was almost at the door, paused for a moment before continuing on his way out.
Stella Lockwood frowned and sighed softly. "Sis, my ankle… I think I twisted it."
Serena Lockwood rushed to check her sister's foot, which was already starting to swell. "Here, I'll carry you to the hospital… And from now on, we're never begging that jerk again. Who does he think he is? What's so great about him just because he has some stinking money? So disrespectful."
"Sis, you don't have to carry me. Just help me walk…" Stella Lockwood stood up, leaning on her sister for support, and took a few quiet breaths. 'She had counted on him possibly saving her, but she still ended up hurt—and from his push, no less. That man was truly impossible to read.'
Serena Lockwood supported Stella Lockwood as they limped their way out.
*
Outside the sports center.
Sean Quinn's car was parked inconspicuously around the corner. He watched as the two sisters emerged from the building.
This extreme sports center was in a remote area, making it difficult to hail a cab. The sisters didn't have their own car. As a low-tier actress, Stella lacked even the most basic resources—no car, no makeup artist, no assistant. It was a pathetic situation.
Sean Quinn glanced over. "Have someone from the sports center give them a ride."
Philip Lefevre froze for a second. Sean had already lowered his head and was scrolling through his phone. Realizing the order, Philip quickly replied, "Yes, sir." He immediately called the center's manager—Sean Quinn was the main investor in this extreme sports facility.
A moment later, a car pulled out from the sports center, and the driver invited the perpetually unlucky sisters to get in.
"Sir, where are we going now?"
Philip Lefevre asked, looking in the rearview mirror.
"Follow the sports center's car," Sean Quinn ordered calmly.
Philip Lefevre froze again. "Yes, sir." He started the car and followed them. He saw their car head to the hospital. Once in the parking lot, Stella Lockwood didn't get out right away. Serena Lockwood jumped out first, went to get a wheelchair, and then carefully helped her sister into it.
Sean Quinn glanced over, his brow furrowed. 'Was my push really that serious?'
*
In reality, Stella Lockwood's ankle wasn't that badly injured. She had originally planned to go straight home but was surprised to notice a car following them. The license plate was Nan A606Z—the plate of one of Sean Quinn's business vehicles.
Sean Quinn owned many cars, and this was just one of them. She only recognized it because, in her past life, she had ridden in it once. The number itself was tied to a deeply personal date for her—the day of the accident involving her father and brother, which was also the anniversary of her father's death. She hated that number, and by extension, she disliked the man who owned the car, feeling that he was a bad omen for her.
That was why Stella Lockwood had changed her destination mid-route, asking the staff member to take her to the nearest hospital. The entire time, the other car followed from a distance.
After they stopped, no one got out of the car that was following them.
As she was wheeled in to register at the outpatient clinic, Stella Lockwood puzzled over the situation. 'Sean Quinn couldn't possibly have business at the hospital right now. He must have followed me because he was worried my injury was serious. And this ride… he probably arranged it, too.'
But what she couldn't figure out was why. This venom-tongued man, whom she barely knew and who treated her so horribly—why would he care whether she was hurt? It had been the same in her past life, and it seemed nothing had changed in this one.