She wrenched her wrist free from Bill Crawford''s grip, but her words only pushed him over the edge. All the time and effort he''d wasted on her shed through his mind, and the wine made his frustration burn hotter. Gwh''s flushed, indignant face-so soft and pretty even when angry-only stoked a desire he could barely contain.


    He mped down on her wrist, refusing to let go. His gaze dropped to her parted lips, and the urge to kiss her became irresistible.


    So he did.


    "We''ve been dating for months and you still won''t even let me kiss you. Are you just ying me? Fine, you want to leave? Spend the night with me-after that, you''re free to go."


    He moved closer, and the shock sobered Gwh instantly. But she couldn''t match his strength, especially with Bill acting like a wild animal who''d lost all


    reason.


    "Bill Crawford, have you no shame?"


    Only now did Gwh see what kind of man he really was-shameless enough to say something like that out loud.


    "Sleep with me, and you can leave whenever you want."


    He tried to pull her toward him, but suddenly a sharp gust of wind whipped past


    his ear, followed instantly by the crack of a solid punch. Bill staggered, vision spinning with stars.


    He hadn''t even found his bnce when the metallic tang of blood flooded his mouth. His ears rang, and his head buzzed with pain.


    "Who the hell dares hit me?"


    Bill finally looked up-only to see Hawthorne standing at Gwh''s side. He wore


    a ssic ck suit with a long overcoat draped over his left arm, and his right hand was balled into a fist, veins bulging from the effort. There was a cold, murderous fury in his eyes, the kind that made you think he could end a life without blinking.


    Even Gwh flinched-she''d only ever seen that look once before, the day her father tracked her and her mother down. The aura Hawthorne exuded now was exactly the same.


    Hawthorne was Greenvale''s most feared man-the one no one dared cross. Bill Crawford knew he didn''t stand a chance.


    A crowd began to gather-some coworkers, some just curious onlookers.


    They all saw Gwh, Mr. Everhart, and Bill Crawford-the golden boy of Crawford Group.


    Hans arrived just then, freezing when he caught a glimpse of Hawthorne''s expression.


    The CEO looked ready to kill. Bill had already lost his nerve the moment he saw Hawthorne, and Gwh grabbed Hawthorne''s arm, sensing he was about to strike again.


    "Uncle, please, that''s enough," she blurted out.


    Bill, already shaken, heard Gwh call Hawthorne "Uncle" and caught the worry


    in her eyes. His pride red hotter than his fear.


    Hawthorne realized he might''ve gone too far, but at the time, all he could think about was not letting a man hurt a woman in front of him.


    "Did you get your things?" he asked Gwh.


    She nodded, still tense. "Yeah."


    "Let''s go, then."


    Right in front of Bill, Hawthorne took Gwh''s hand and started to lead her away. But, out of nowhere, Bill lunged at them, a pocketknife shing in his grip.


    "Hawthorne, you might scare everyone else, but not me. Gwh''s my girlfriend!"


    Gwh''s eyes caught the knife,


    and a memory mmed into her-the image of her father rushing to save her mother. She saw Violet Marchand''s hand, the knife plunging into McNeil Langford''s chest.


    "No-don''t!"


    Her pupils dted with panic. Without thinking, she threw herself in front of Hawthorne, intercepting Bill Crawford''s de, desperate to stop him from attacking.


    "Please, don''t hurt Dad-don''t!"