Chapter Four - Mr grumpy pants

Two days after the whole scam conspiracy, and the fact that my desperation was being a pain in the ass, I had everything I owned packed. I was ready. Or at least I told myself I was.

The second I’d accepted that job offer, something inside of me shifted. I wasn’t sure if it was excitement or the panic of diving headfirst into the unknown, but whatever it was, it felt a hell of a lot like being dragged into a whirlpool. And I wasn’t sure I had the energy to fight it anymore.

So there I was, staring at my crumpled-up suitcase, trying to wrap my head around how ridiculous this all was. It felt like living in some kind of weird, low-budget thriller. The kind where the protagonist makes one bad decision after another, and you’re just waiting for them to realize it’s all going south. Only in my case, I was the protagonist and I had no idea what scene was coming up next. I didn’t have the luxury to peek at the script.

Cause you damn writer!!

My entire life was falling apart, yet here I was, about to hop on a plane to who knows where to care for some rich, terminally ill stranger. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d taken a real trip somewhere.

“Take the money, Scarlett. Take the damn money, no question ask”

My greed muttered to myself.

If there was any hope left for me, it was attached to this paycheck.

A knock at the door jerked me out of my spiraling thoughts. When I opened it, I was face-to-face with a guy in black suit. He was tall, lean, and had a cold, unbothered look, like he was used to dealing with people who didn’t ask too many questions. His dark hair was neatly combed back, and his eyes were hard. He didn’t smile. Hell, he didn’t even nod. He just stood there, staring at me for a second before turning to glance at the stairwell behind him.

He didn’t say a word. No “Good morning” or “Are you ready to go?” just a silent command.

“Right...”

I muttered under my breath, already annoyed at the lack of pleasantries. But it wasn’t like I had time to complain. I hurried back into the apartment, grabbed my crumpled suitcase, and dragged it out the door. My palms were sweaty, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over at the man standing in the hall, his gaze still fixed on me.

“Need a hand?”

I asked, only half expecting him to answer.

He didn’t.

Instead, he just reached down and grabbed my suitcase like another weight lift exercise and muttered,

“Let’s go.”

He offered, heading down the stairs as I trailed behind him.

When we finally reached outside, I had to squint against the sunlight to focus on my vision just to catch a glimpse of the car.

A sleek, black car sat parked at the curb, the kind of car you’d see in movies when someone important gets out. No dents. No scratches. It looked like it could eat up the road at 100 mph without breaking a sweat. My stomach did a little flip.

The driver opened the back door without saying a word and motioned for me to get in. So, naturally, I did what I was told. I had no other choice at this point.

I settled into the backseat, instantly feeling like I didn’t belong there. The seats were too smooth, too pristine—like no one ever really sat in them for long. This wasn’t the kind of car meant for casual rides; it was the kind that got you from point A to point B with zero attachments.

The man in suit got in next, and started the engine. His actions clearly saying I was on my own.The low hum of the car filled the space before shifting the gears and we started to move.

I stared at him for a second, half-expecting some kind of acknowledgment. A grunt, maybe. A side-eye. Hell, I’d even take an exaggerated sigh. But he Just gave an unbothered, deadpan stare straight ahead, hands locked on the wheel like he was chauffeuring a bag of potatoes instead of a human being.

I turned towards the window, taking in the city I’d probably never see again. The chaos of downtown faded in the rearview mirror, replaced by streets I didn’t recognize and people I’d never meet. The car sped through the city, taking turns after turns without hesitation.

Has he been here before?

I tried making some small talk because what else was I going to do? Keep staring out the window like a lost puppy?

“So... you drive people like me all the time?”

I asked, trying to keep the conversation casual.

He didn’t even glance at me in the mirror. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

"You from around here? You drive like you know these streets."

Silence.

"So... where exactly am I going? All I got was a plane ticket to Beverly Hills."

Still nothing.

I eyed him, wondering if he was allergic to conversation or just actively ignoring my existence. Either way, it looked like I’d be spending the ride talking to myself.

Maybe he didn’t speak English, or maybe he was just really good at ignoring people. Either way, I had a long ride ahead of me, and I wasn’t going to waste it trying to figure him out.

I let my eyes wander to the cityscape outside the window. The longer I watched, the more everything blurred into one endless blur of buildings, lights. It was like the city itself was fading away, like I was no longer a part of it.

The silence stretched on.

I shifted in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position, but nothing worked. I was too tense. Too keyed up. I hadn’t slept right in days, and now I was on my way ‘into the unknown’, where I didn’t know a single soul.

And yet, somehow, that gave me a little relief.

I wasn’t exactly a fan of being noticed. Hell, I hated it. If I could disappear and never be found, I probably would’ve. But for now, I didn’t have that option.

The man in the suit finally acknowledged my existence. Not with words, because that would be too human, but by pressing a button on the dashboard. Suddenly, classical music drifted through the car, all soft strings and pretentious elegance, giving off the vibe of stepping into a museum or the lobby of some overpriced five-star hotel.

I blinked. Seriously? Out of all the things he could’ve done, he chose this? Not even a glance in my direction, just a passive-aggressive symphony to drown out my existence.

My mind wander to the kind of people who hired someone to take care of a terminally ill patient in the first place. Was this person some eccentric millionaire who could barely walk around their mansion? Or was I about to meet some long-lost heir to a fortune, a person with a lifetime of wealth and a body that was ready to give up?

I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Still, I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that this was all a little... too much. Too fast.

The car rolled onto the highway, the city shrinking behind us. Buildings turned into trees, billboards into open fields, and the further we went, the more it felt like I was being driven straight out of my old life.

By the time we pulled into the airport parking lot, the car came to a smooth stop. The engine stopped purring and out the door he went.

I let out a breath, grabbed my bag, and stepped out of the car. The air was colder, the buildings too tall, and the people too busy to care. I didn’t know anyone here, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. It was just... different. But different was better than being stuck where I was.

I watched the driver walk to the trunk, taking his sweet time with unloading my things. He didn’t even look my way. He just went through the motions, like a robot going through a checklist.

I wasn’t sure if I should thank him or not. He hadn’t said a word to me the whole time, so I wasn’t exactly feeling the warm fuzziness from him.

I grabbed my luggage and walked into the terminal. The airport was packed, filled with people rushing to get to their gates, making last-minute changes to their flights, or running to catch that one flight they were probably going to miss. I looked at the flight board, scanning for my destination. Destination: Beverly Hills, California.

That was where the job was waiting for me.

I made my way to the gate, trying to figure out how I should feel. Nervous? Excited? I mean, I could feel a little of everything, but mostly, I just felt like a deer in headlights.

There was this nagging thought telling me to turn around and just walk out of the airport. Go home. Keep doing the same crap I’d been doing and keep waiting for some miracle that would never happen.

But no. I wasn’t going to be that person. So, I parked myself in one of the chairs available and let my bag settle at my feet. Seating on my own, completely clueless.

I leaned back in the chair, letting my mind wander for a second. Everyone around me seemed like they had it together, like they knew exactly what they were doing. And then there was me, sitting here wondering if I’d made the worst decision of my life.

But before I could spiral any further, a voice over the loudspeaker cut through the noise, announcing the boarding call for my flight.

“Now boarding for Flight 212 to : Beverly Hills, California. Passengers in group one, please proceed to the gate.”

With a deep breath, I grabbed my bag and stood up. As I walked toward the gate, I couldn’t help but feel a little strange. Not the kind of excitement you get before a vacation or a big event. But the type you'll get when stepping into the unknown.

I handed my ticket to the attendant, who barely glanced at me before letting me through. I took a step into the jetway, the cold air hitting me as I walked into the plane.

And just like that, I was on my way to whatever came next.