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Chapter 135 – An Unexpected Rescue and a Boyfriend’s Subtle Stand
I stared at my phone after hanging up on Aunt Hailing, feeling drained. Why couldn’t my family just leave me alone? I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the headache that had been forming since the courthouse confrontation with Eleanor.
When my phone rang again with Aunt Hailing’s number, I rejected the call immediately. I didn’t need another round of guilt–tripping about my “dying father” or subtle hints about how I should be using Damien’s money to help them.
My office door opened, and Damien walked in with a bag that smelled deliciously like the dumplings from the restaurant down the street – my favorite comfort food. “You look exhausted,” he said, setting the food on my desk.
I leaned back in my chair with a sigh. “That was my aunt on the phone. Another family member wanting me to pay for my father’s medical bills.”
Damien pulled up a chair beside me. “Let me guess – she mentioned how the Sterlings value filial piety?”
“Exactly that,” I said, surprised. “How did you know?”
“It’s a predictable manipulation tactic,” he replied, opening the food containers. “They’ll try to use me against you.”
“Well, it’s not working,” I said firmly. “I’m not spending a cent on the man who destroyed my mother.”
Damien nodded, not pushing the issue. “You should eat something.”
I looked at the dumplings and felt my stomach turn. “I appreciate it, but I don’t have much of an appetite right now. I’m sorry.”
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He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch tle. “Don’t apologize. Just know I’m here if you need me.”
I managed a small smile. “I know. And that means more than I can say.”
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It was nearly eight when I finally left the office. The lawsuit with Giselle Grayson, though headed toward settlement, still required mountains of paperwork. Combined with the family drama, I was completely drained.
I got into my car, hoping for an uneventful drive home. But two blocks from the office, my engine made a strange sputtering sound before the car jerked and died completely.
“Not again,” I groaned, hitting the steering wheel in frustration.
I’d been meaning to get the car checked out for weeks. The mechanic had warned me about potential issues, but with everything else going on, I’d put it off.
After several failed attempts to restart the engine, I pulled out my phone to call for roadside assistance when a car pulled up alongside mine. The window rolled down to reveal Mr. Vance, one of the designers from the neighboring studio.
“Car trouble, Ms. Ashworth?” he asked, peering at my vehicle.
“It just died on me,” I admitted. “I was about to call for help.”
“Mind if I take a look?” he offered. “I used to work as a mechanic during college.”
I hesitated briefly but then nodded. “That would be very kind, thank you.”
Mr. Vance parked his car safely and came over. After looking under the hood for a few minutes, he straightened up.
“You’ve got rodent damage,” he said, pointing to chewed wires. “It’s common this time. of year when they look for warm places. I can reconnect these temporarily, but you’ll need a proper repair soon.”
“Rodents? In my car?” I asked, surprised.
He nodded. “They can climb in through the wheel wells or small openings. The insulation around your wires makes a cozy nest.”
I watched as he worked skillfully, reconnecting wires and checking various components. After about fifteen minutes, he stepped back.
“Try it now,” he suggested.
I turned the key, and miraculously, the engine started.
“That’s amazing! Thank you so much, Mr. Vanee.” I felt genuinely grateful for his timely
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assistance.
He wiped his hands on a handkerchief. “Happy to help. But this is just a temporary fix. You should get it to a garage tomorrow.”
“I will, definitely,” I promised. Then, feeling obligated for his kindness, I added, “Can I treat you to dinner as thanks? There’s a hot pot place nearby.”
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” he replied with a smile.
Only after he accepted did I realize it was the same restaurant where we’d eaten before – the one that had made Damien jealous. I hesitated, wondering if I should rescind the offer, but that seemed rude after Mr. Vance had just helped me.
Instead, I took out my phone and sent Damien a quick text:
*Car broke down. Mr. Vance from the design studio happened to drive by and fixed it. Taking him for thank–you dinner at the hot pot place. Just being polite.*
I wanted to be completely transparent after our conversation about sharing burdens and not shutting him out.
We drove separately to the restaurant, with me checking periodically to make sure my car was still running. As we were being seated, my phone rang with Damien’s name on
the screen.
“Excuse me,” I said to Mr. Vance, stepping away to answer.
“Hey,” I said. “Did you get my text?”
“I did,” Damien replied, his voice calm. “Is your car okay now?”
“Just a temporary fix. Apparently, rodents chewed through some wires.”
“You need a new car, Hazel. I’ve been telling you that for weeks.”
I sighed. “I know, I know. I’ll look into it this weekend.”
There was a brief pause before Damien continued, “Where are you now?”
“At Golden Pot, just around the corner from
my
office.”
“I’ll come pick you up,” he said decisively.
“Damien, it’s fine. I just owe Mr. Vance a meal for helping me out. It shouldn’t take
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long.”
“I know,” he replied, his voice neutral but with an undertone I couldn’t quite read. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Before I could protest further, he ended the call. I walked back to the table feeling slightly uneasy.
“Everything okay?” Mr. Vance asked as I sat down.
“Yes, just my boyfriend checking in,” I explained, trying to sound casual. “He’s actually going to meet us here.”
Mr. Vance’s expression flickered briefly. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were in a relationship.”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “We’ve been together for a while now.”
I didn’t want any misunderstandings, especially after Cherry had mentioned that Mr. Vance might be interested in me. The conversation shifted to work–related topics as we ordered, and I kept glancing at the door, both dreading and anticipating Damien’s
arrival.
True to his word, fifteen minutes later, Damien walked in. He looked immaculate as always in his tailored suit, commanding attention effortlessly as he scanned the restaurant and spotted us.
“Hazel,” he greeted, bending to kiss my cheek before turning to Mr. Vance with an extended hand. “You must be Mr. Vance. I’m Damien Sterling. Thank you for helping Hazel with her car.”
Mr. Vance stood to shake his hand. “No problem at all. Just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
“Quite fortunate,” Damien agreed, sliding into the seat next to me, his arm casually draping over the back of my chair. “Hazel tells me you were once a mechanic?”
“In college,” Mr. Vance confirmed. “Helped pay the bills.”
“Impressive that you still remember all those skills,” Damien commente “It must have been some time ago.”
I tensed slightly, sensing the subtle dig about Mr. Vance’s age, but the conversation
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continued smoothly as Damien ordered a drink.
Throughout dinner, Damien was perfectly polite, asking thoughtful questions about Mr. Vance’s design background and sharing appropriate anecdotes. But I could feel the undercurrent in his behavior – the way his hand occasionally brushed my shoulder or how he’d casually reference our shared experiences.
He was marking his territory, and while he was doing it with perfect etiquette, it was
unmistakable.
Mr. Vance seemed to sense it too. As we were finishing up, he glanced at his watch. “I should be heading out. Early morning tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I said, grateful that he was making a graceful exit. “And thank you again for your help with the car.”
“Happy to help,” he replied, then added with a smile toward Damien, “You have quite a special relationship with Ms. Ashworth.”
I froze at his ambiguous phrasing. Was he referring to my relationship with Damien, or implying something about his own connection to me?
Damien’s smile remained pleasant, but his eyes hardened slightly. “I’m well aware of how special Hazel is,” he said smoothly, his arm tightening around me. “I’m a very lucky
man.”
The statement, though delivered calmly, left no room for misinterpretation. Mr. Vance nodded, said his goodbyes, and left.
In the car on the way home, I finally confronted Damien. “That was a bit much, don’t you think? You were practically claiming me in front of him.”
Damien’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “If you hadn’t been so honest and well–behaved, I wouldn’t have just been polite to him; I would have come up and kissed you directly, making him too ashamed to show his face.”
