Chapter 3.1

Chapter 3.1

“Where are we going now?” I asked after a moment, glancing around as I tried to get my bearings.

“In my room.”

Well… obviously.

I pressed my lips together, then sighed. “You know, maybe you should postpone whatever you’re planning. You might make your injury worse, and your father might get mad at me again. I don’t feel like getting slapped twice in a row. I’ve had enough.” I tossed in a dramatic eye roll, deliberately exaggerating my tone.

He looked at me, his brows knitting together slightly. “Was he the one who slapped you?”

“Yes, on my super pretty face!” I shot back, gesturing midair as if presenting evidence. I even tilted my chin up a little, as though waiting for him to inspect the invisible damage. He stared at me for a second longer than necessary, his expression unreadable, his brows still drawn together. For a brief second, I wondered if he might actually slap me himself if I didn’t stop talking.

“You glare like you were born angry,” I added, unable to help myself. “Did your mother crave bitterness when she was pregnant with you?”

His gaze sharpened. “And you act like you don’t care about anything. Did your mother crave a clown when she was pregnant with you?”

I burst into a soft laugh, the sound spilling out of me before I could stop it. “Oh, come on. Would the world change if I frowned all the time?”

His lips parted as if he were about to respond, but I quickly lifted a hand to stop him. “Wait—don’t answer. I can already read your handsome mind.” I wagged a finger at him playfully. “You’re probably thinking, ‘Would the world change if you smiled?’ See? Same logic.”

Before he could react, I turned and pushed open the door to his room. “Let’s just go inside and do the thingy.”

“What thingy?” he asked, clearly confused.

I glanced back at him with a teasing smile. “You said last night you were going to take a bath.”

I pushed his wheelchair forward again, guiding him toward the room. The polished floors reflected the soft lighting overhead, and everything around us screamed wealth—subtle, quiet, but undeniably expensive. Even the air felt different, like it belonged to people who had never known what it meant to struggle.

Before we could get any further, a maid approached us, bowing her head slightly. “Señorito, Sir Tim is at the portico.”

She left just as quickly as she came, her presence barely lingering.

Fabien didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go to Tim first.”

“Yes, boss!” I said, snapping a playful salute before turning the wheelchair around and steering us back outside.

The portico was wide and elegant, with tall pillars and a driveway that curved like something out of a movie. And there he was—Timoteo—standing with a posture that screamed business and urgency.

“We’ll have a minute,” Fabien told me.

I nodded obediently and stepped away, turning as if to head back inside. But instead of going far, I slipped behind the slightly open door, leaving just enough space for air—and, more importantly, sound—to pass through.

I leaned closer, holding my breath.

“The total damage of your Chiron is 200 thousand USD.”

My eyes widened instantly.

Two hundred thousand dollars?

My hand flew to my mouth to keep from gasping out loud.

“We have to expect more than that,” Timoteo continued. “It will take about two weeks, even with your priority status. Wearnes Automotive can handle the repairs.”

Two weeks?

I pressed myself against the wall, my heart beating faster—not from fear, but from sheer disbelief.

“How about the men who caused the damage?” Fabien asked, his voice calm, almost detached. “How much do I have to pay for the funeral?”

My breath hitched.

Funeral?

“You killed two of them,” Timoteo replied without hesitation. “There were four in the car.”

I felt the air leave my lungs.

Killed… two?

My hand dropped to my chest as I struggled to process what I had just heard. My mind replayed the chaos from the night before—the gunshots, the panic, the blur of movement. I knew it was dangerous. I knew it wasn’t just some minor incident.

But this?

This was something else.

Still… it wasn’t like he had a choice, right?

People don’t just stand there and let themselves be killed.

And Fabien… he wasn’t just anyone.

“It’s already settled,” Timoteo added. “Focus on recovering. I’ll have the car transported to Singapore. In the meantime, you can use the Stradale. Not bad for a 290-million car.”

I nearly choked.

Two hundred thousand dollars in damage.

A car worth 290 million.

Singapore repairs.

Funerals.

What kind of world had I stepped into?

I stood there, frozen, my mouth slightly open, waiting—hoping—to hear more. But just as I leaned in a little closer, I caught a glimpse of movement.

Fabien.

He was already near the door.

Panic surged through me.

I quickly straightened, inhaling deeply as if I had just been casually standing there the whole time. I shut my mouth just in time before he fully opened the door.

“I—I came back because you said it would only take a minute,” I said quickly, forcing a casual tone.

His eyes lingered on me for a second, sharp and knowing.

“Don’t do that around my father or my uncle,” he said coldly. “Or it might cost you your ears.”

My hand immediately flew to my ear.

Wait—what?

They’d actually…?

Before I could even finish the thought, he started rolling his wheelchair forward on his own.

“Oh! Let me do that,” I said quickly, rushing to his side. “You might scratch your very beautiful hands.”

I grabbed the handles, pushing him carefully this time.

My mind, however, was anything but careful.

Two weeks.

That’s all I had.

Two weeks to get close to him.

Two weeks to make him trust me.

Two weeks to do what I had agreed to do.

But how?

Fabien wasn’t like the men I had imagined. He wasn’t easily charmed, wasn’t distracted by smiles or playful teasing—not really. If anything, he seemed more guarded because of it.

He was… controlled. Calculated. Distant.

More formal than the ROTC commander we had back in high school.

And that was saying something.

I bit my lower lip as I pushed him down the hallway, my thoughts racing.

If I tried too hard, he’d notice.

If I didn’t try at all, I’d fail.

I needed something in between.

Something natural.

Something that wouldn’t make him suspicious.

“Why are you quiet all of a sudden?” he asked without looking at me.

I blinked, caught off guard.

“Oh… I was just thinking,” I replied.

“About what?”

I hesitated for a second, then smiled faintly. “About how I’m supposed to survive here without losing my ears.”

A pause.

Then, just barely, I thought I saw the corner of his lips move.

Not quite a smile.

But close.

And somehow, that tiny shift made my chest tighten.

Maybe…

Just maybe…

I had a chance.