Jarrod instructed the driver with authority, "Drive."

"Mr. Schultz, where to?" the driver inquired.

While it was common for men to take women to hotels, Jarrod had a different destination in mind.

Looking at Nicole, who continued to struggle, Jarrod pinched the bridge of his nose and commanded, “To the villa."

As the car started, Nicole kept shifting, her head knocking against the window. Jarrod, catching her by the face, warned sharply, "Do you want to jump out? Think about what that would do to your face.”

Realizing the implications, Nicole settled down somewhat.

Seeing her calm slightly, Jarrod disdainfully pushed her into the corner.

The mix of blood, alcohol, and vomit emanating from Nicole was repulsive. Jarrod had intervened out of necessity alone.

As the car drove on, Nicole muttered a single word, barely audible, "Roscoe."

Jarrod's face set into a mask of icy severity, his expression darkening instantly. The veins on the back of his hand stood out, signaling his intense effort to maintain control.

Jarrod half-turned, intent on ejecting Nicole from the car, but paused when he saw her curled up like a distressed cat in the corner, her demeanor unusually subdued.

It was a rare sight, her docility, especially since she wasn't fully conscious. Jarrod grasped arguing with someone in such a state was futile.

"Damn it!" Jarrod muttered under his breath, his frustration evident as he yanked at his collar, accidentally popping a couple of buttons.

His shirt fell open slightly, revealing the chiseled contours of his chest, an unintentional display of raw masculine allure.

Thankfully, Nicole's outburst had been brief. Had it persisted, Jarrod might have been tempted to remove her from the car before reaching their destination.

Reflecting on the evening, Jarrod questioned his decision to bring Nicole home. Perhaps he should have maintained his usual role as an indifferent observer. After all, she didn't need him. She needed someone else..

The suburban property was one of many owned by Jarrod but held a special place as his personal retreat.

Jarrod valued its tranquility and the way it stood isolated, near the river. During storms, he would sit on the large terrace, Listening to the rain lash against the river, the sounds reflecting the turbulence of his past. Those moments reinforced his resilience, a testament to the adversities he had overcome. There was no returning to the polished gentleman he once pretended to be, if he ever truly was one.

He never was.

As the car approached the villa, the staff, already informed by the driver, were prepared. Both the doctor and the housekeeper were ready to assist.