That was his car.
Eva Nightingale walked over, just reaching the car when the door opened, and the man inside extended his arms toward her: "Honey, get in."
His voice was cold yet alluring.
Full of command, pulling her into his embrace.
Eva got into the car, sitting beside him, but not in his lap, because in the past, she didn't know he was injured.
She sat by his side, shifted a bit further away, and then looked at him; clad in a robe, black, adding a touch of mystery, full of restraint.
For some reason, he exuded an aura that warned strangers to keep their distance, making her unconsciously feel cold and utter:
"Mr. President!"
"Honey, what's wrong?" His voice was husky, low, mesmerizingly pleasing to the ear.
Was she intentionally distancing herself from him?
Ignoring his embrace?
What happened? Could it be that there were too many young actors in the crew, dazzling her eyes, resulting in her not recognizing him, her husband?
