Chapter 2Not Your Son, Mr. Kevin

But I am not some wilting flower who swallows her pride. I am Mary Lane, and I've never had to watch my words for anyone.

"Get out."

My voice was ice. I showed no mercy.

The girl stared at me, stunned. She clearly hadn't expected me to be so blunt. The coldness in my tone left her speechless.

"I… I'm sorry, Mrs. King," she stammered, her voice trembling on the verge of tears as she scrambled into the back seat.

Kevin hung up the phone just in time to see the aftermath. He knew I was angry. A look of weary indulgence crossed his face. He leaned over and fastened my seatbelt for me.

I noticed the seat had been adjusted. Annoyed, I readjusted everything—the seat, the mirrors, the steering wheel—fuming.

"This is so annoying! Who the hell dares to mess with my seat?"

The air in the car turned frigid. The girl in the back didn't dare make a sound.

Kevin's brow furrowed. "If you're not in the mood today," he suggested calmly, "we can just go home."

In the rearview mirror, I could see the woman silently crying. I was seething.

"Bella, was it?" I said, my voice sharp. "I'm not in the mood anymore. You can take a taxi home. Mr. King and I are leaving."

The girl's face went pale. She looked at Kevin for help, but he offered none. Dejected, she got out of the car.