Love's Cunning Ruse novel Chapter 367

When Julie saw Kleist, she thought of Rowan, and thinking of Rowan triggered an immediate response, run!

So, Julie whirled around to run, but she couldn’t outrun Kleist. She had barely taken a step when Kleist's large hand clamped onto her collar from behind.

"Miss Patriot Newell, the young master requests your presence."

"Help, he’s trying to take me!" Julie's scream pierced the air like thunder on a clear day, perfectly timed with the pedestrian crossing alight with green. Her voice instantly drew the attention of passersby.

Many stopped in their tracks, their gazes locked onto the dramatic scene unfolding before them.

"I don't know this man!" Julie yelled, struggling to break free from Kleist's iron grip.

A few upstanding citizens approached, full of righteous indignation. "Do you really not know him?"

"No, call the police!" Julie implored while sneakily trying to slide her phone out of her pocket. Her quick-dial was set to Kieran—if only she could hit the button, she could reach him.

But Kleist, sharp as ever, saw through Julie's diversion. The phone was swiftly confiscated from her grasp.

The onlookers, upon witnessing this, and seeing Julie's genuine distress, raised their voices in unison, "Let she go, or we'll call the cops!"

"Yeah, the cops!" Another onlooker brandished their smartphone.

Perhaps it was Kleist's imposing stature or his icy demeanor that kept the crowd at bay, their threats loud but their actions meek. Everyone was ready with their phones, but no one seemed quite ready to dial, uncertain of the true nature of the situation.

Kleist hadn't anticipated this level of communal spirit, and without the young master's orders, he dared not harm Julie.

He glanced over at the sleek, black Spyker C8 with its darkly tinted windows.

In mere seconds, several black Mercedes pulled up, disgorging dozens of suited men who quickly formed a barrier around Julie and Kleist, effectively cutting off the curious onlookers.

Seeing this display, the crowd's courage faltered. After hearing the men respectfully address Julie as 'Ms. Newell,' they backed away, imagining a soap opera saga of a wealthy heiress in a family feud, and no one felt inclined to intervene any longer.

Kleist released Julie, gesturing towards the Spyker C8 with a bow, "Ms. Newell, if you please."

Julie darted towards a gap between the men in black, only to slam headfirst into a wall of muscle, leaving her head spinning.

With a weary politeness, Kleist opened the passenger door again, "Ms. Newell, please get in the car."

Julie could see a pair of long legs and impeccably pressed black trousers from where she was.

"Give me my phone back." Julie glared at Kleist! She realized there was no breaking through this circle of guards, so her earlier feint had been just to activate her watch's GPS. That way, even if she were forced into the car, Julien could still track her.

Kleist, of course, wasn't about to return her phone. He turned to the man inside the car and asked, "Young master, may I use force?"

It seemed inevitable that she'd end up in the car regardless; outnumbered and outmatched, Julie didn't want to endure any rough handling. So ultimately, she got into the car.

Kleist shut the door, and the sound made Julie's head throb. The door locked automatically, leaving no chance for escape.

Next to her, wrapped in those expensive trousers, was Rowan.

Upon seeing him, Julie felt goosebumps rise all over her skin. She clung to the door handle as if she could press herself into the window glass.

"Please, just let me go!" Julie stayed as close to the door as possible, creating a chasm between her and Rowan that felt as wide as the Grand Canyon.

Rowan leaned back in his seat, turning to lock his deep gaze with Julie's eyes, "Are you afraid of me?"

"If someone pointed a gun at you and took you to the middle of nowhere, you'd be scared too, right? Especially with a loaded gun!" Julie clung to the handle, every fiber of her being rejecting the reality of sharing a car with Rowan.

But Rowan's eyes were fixed on her wrist, almost entranced, as if he could bore a hole through it with his stare. Julie followed his gaze and realized he was looking at the watch on her wrist.