RankNovelChapter 87 When Citrine stepped out of the café, night had already fallen.
She was about to call her driver when, at the intersection ahead, she saw a black SUV collide head-on with a massive truck. The front of the SUV crumpled under the impact, thick black smoke billowing from the engine. Within seconds, a crowd gathered at the intersection-most people standing back to gawk, none daring to approach the wreck.
Citrine slipped her phone back into her purse and pushed her way into the throng.
As soon as she made it to the front, she recognized a familiar face through the shattered rear window.
Her expression changed in an instant. Determined, she shoved aside the people blocking her way and forced herself through.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇt"Somebody call an ambulance!" she shouted before she got to the smoking SUV, her voice cutting through the buzz of the crowd.
Someone finally snapped out of their stupor.
"Hurry, call emergency services! If you wait, someone could die!" Just as Citrine was about to reach the car, a bystander yelled at her, "Miss, get back! That thing's smoking—it could explode any second!" "Yeah, sweetheart, you'd better stay away, it's not worth risking your life!" "You're just a kid-don't do something reckless for someone else!" Citrine ignored them, her tone grave. "There's an elderly man inside. If he doesn't get help now, he could die." With that, she strode right up to the car.
She reached through the half-open window, grabbed the emergency hammer, and smashed the glass at all four corners, carefully clearing the shards before opening the door from the inside.
Weston's face was streaked with blood, his leg pinned under the seat. He was trapped and unable to move. Citrine leaned halfway into the wreck, working inch by inch to free the elderly man's leg.
His leg was wedged in tight, and though Citrine was young, her strength was starting to fail her. Within minutes, sweat beaded on her brow and her hands began to tremble.
Weston squinted through the haze, surprise flickering across his usually stern features when he recognized her. "What are you doing here?" He forced his eyes open, that familiar icy composure now cracked with pain. "Don't talk. Breathe deeply. Save your strength." Citrine didn't look at him, focusing all her effort on the task at hand.
Weston noticed the way her hands shook and, without another word, did as she said-drawing in slow, steady breaths.
At last, Citrine managed to free his leg. She pressed her handkerchief to the wound to stop the bleeding, then climbed out of the car.
Bit by bit, she eased Weston out and propped his hands onto her shoulders.
"Still got sstrength left, old man?" she asked, glancing back at him.
Weston nodded, but before he could say anything, he felt himself lifted off the seat.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏm"Then hold on," Citrine said, her voice calm and steely.
She carried him toward the curb, sweat trickling down her temple.
As they neared the roadside, someone from the crowd rushed over to help take Weston from her.
Citrine cast a quick look at the SUV's dazed driver, then turned to head back toward the wreck. She had barely taken a step when she felt someone grab her sleeve.
Turning, she found Weston gripping her arm, his gaze full of conflicting emotions.
Thinking he was worried about his condition, Citrine reassured himm "Don't worry, you'll be fine. The En ambulance will be here soon."
Weston shook his head, reading her intentions all too well. His voice was urgent and sterk. "You can't go back E there."
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