CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: WRONG COMFORT

~George~ It was a few minutes to ten, but my flight was by 11. Yesterday, trying to get a flight booked to the city was hectic. I couldn't get any except the one taking off my 11, and so I had to call the man that had called me yesterday, informing him that I would arrive before 1 p.m. since the fight was only going to take about an hour and thirty minutes. My eyes widened upon seeing the backside of a car moving out of the premises. It moved away before I could realize which car it was. I felt my heart skip a million beats at once. What if she gets into an accident again? “What the hell did I tell you about not letting Mae leave this house on her own?” I yelled, advancing towards the gatekeeper in anger. “Monsieur,” he called in his usual French accent. “Answer me!” I snapped, grabbing him by the collar. “She didn't leave on her own; a car drove in to pick her up,” he said, and I furrowed my brows in surprise while my hands slowly left his collars, giving him a chance to breath