His sudden question caught Cynthia off guard. She turned, startled, to look at the man beside her, who wore a stony expression. Anxiety flickered across her face.
“Did I talk in my sleep just now?”
Oh, God. Had she said something she shouldn’t have? Had he heard something that would get her in trouble?
Cynthia felt a wave of dread wash over her.
Dominic didn’t answer. Instead, he simply averted his gaze and slid his eye mask back down, shutting her out.
Seeing this, Cynthia fell silent. For some reason, her nose stung, and she turned away, blinking back the ache in her chest.
After a while, Dominic’s low voice broke the silence, his tone icy.
“We’ve come this far. Thinking about turning back now would just be foolish.”
Cynthia bit her lip, unable to help herself.
She could guess why Dominic had asked. He must have thought she’d been dreaming about Father Benedict. That would explain the sour look on his face.
Either way, Cynthia couldn’t deny he was right. They’d already come too far—there was no sense in looking back now. That would be the height of stupidity.
Ten years ago, she wasn’t worthy. Ten years later, she was even less so.
The least a person could do was see themselves clearly.
Cynthia tore her gaze away from Dominic’s handsome profile and stared out the window, murmuring, almost to herself, “You’ve got it wrong, Mr. Holloway. Benedict wasn’t in my dream. And I’m not planning to retrace my steps. I’ll make sure you get VistaSphere Group, whatever it takes.”
Dominic didn’t react. He leaned back in his seat, motionless, as if he’d fallen asleep.
Cynthia didn’t say another word. She rested her head against the seat, her bright eyes turning glassy with unshed tears.
The plane touched down in The Capital.
By then, Cynthia had pulled herself together.
Dominic still wore his eye mask; whether he was asleep or awake, she couldn’t tell. She reached out and gently nudged his arm.
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