8- slaps are occupational hazards

And as if he had been summoned by the mention of his name, Kai walks into the storeroom.

My heart gives an unexpected thud.

What is he doing here?

His eyes sweep across the room, briefly settling on Mike before moving to Miranda and Hellen.

Then they land on me.

More specifically, my injured hand.

His expression changes.

“What's going on?”

Nobody answers immediately.

Kai takes another step inside, his gaze moving from the blood on my palm to the broken portrait lying on the floor.

Then he looks at me again.

“Lynn?”

I lower my eyes.

I wasn't expecting him to be here. In my previous life, Kai was someone I had desperately wanted to impress. I had spent years chasing his attention, believing that if I loved him enough, he would eventually choose me.

How foolish I had been.

Now, standing in front of him, I feel nothing but an unfamiliar distance.

“Are you hurt?”

I nod slightly.

“It's nothing.”

“Nothing?” His eyes return to my bleeding palm. “Your hand is bleeding.”

Hellen immediately steps forward.

“Kai, it's not what you think.”

I almost laugh.

Of course.

She has already started.

Kai glances at her.

“Then what is it?”

“She came here and started causing trouble. She picked up that old portrait and refused to return it when I asked her to.”

I keep my head lowered.

Kai looks at the broken frame.

“Is that what caused her injury?”

Hellen hesitates.

“She fell.”

“How?”

“She was being difficult!”

I slowly raise my eyes.

“Please, don't argue because of me.”

Kai looks at me.

I quickly lower my gaze again.

“I shouldn't have come here. I only wanted to take my mother's picture home.”

His attention shifts to the portrait.

“Your mother's?”

I nod.

Mike clears his throat.

“That's enough. The nurse is coming.”

But Kai doesn't seem interested in leaving the matter there.

He looks at Hellen.

“Did you break it?”

Hellen's eyes widen.

“What?”

“The portrait. Did you break it?”

“Daddy, are you hearing this?” Hellen turns towards Mike. “Why is everyone questioning me? She's the one who came here causing trouble!”

I remain silent.

I don't need to defend myself.

Not when everyone has already seen the evidence.

Kai looks at my hand again.

“Someone should get her cleaned up before those glass pieces cause more damage.”

For a moment, I simply stare at him.

Then I look away.

Interesting.

I never imagined that the first time Kai would show concern for me in this life, it would be over something so insignificant.

But I know better than to mistake concern for affection.

I've already made that mistake once.

I slowly push myself up from the floor.

Kai takes a step forward, seemingly ready to help, but I manage to stand on my own.

“Careful,” he says.

I nod.

“Thank you.”

As I straighten, a few strands of hair fall away from my face, exposing the red mark on my cheek.

Kai's eyes settle on it.

His expression changes.

“What happened to your face?”

I instinctively touch my cheek.

“Oh, this?”

I give a small, embarrassed smile.

“It's nothing.”

His gaze shifts towards Hellen.

“Did someone slap you?”

I quickly shake my head.

“Please, don't be angry with anyone. It was my fault. I shouldn't have insisted on taking the portrait.”

Hellen looks at me as though she wants to strangle me.

Good.

Let her.

I bend down and carefully pick up my mother's portrait. A few remaining pieces of glass fall from its frame, but I don't pay them any attention.

“Daddy, I apologize for causing trouble.”

Mike looks at me.

“Lynn, wait. Let the nurse attend to your hand first.”

I shake my head.

“It's fine. I can take care of it at home.”

“Your hand is bleeding.”

I look down at it.

Then I smile weakly.

“I've had worse.”

Without waiting for another response, I turn towards the door.

“Lynn!” my father calls.

I pretend not to hear him.

I walk out of the storeroom, holding my mother's portrait against my chest.

The employees gathered in the corridor immediately make way for me.

I can feel their eyes following my every movement.

Some look at my injured hand. Others stare at the portrait.

I don't have to look back to know that my little performance has already started spreading.

“Is that really the owner's daughter?”

“I heard her say the company is hers mother.”

“Then why is her mother's portrait in the storeroom?”

“Her stepmother and stepsister have practically taken everything from her.”

“Poor girl. Imagine being treated like that in your mother's company.”

I keep walking.

Their whispers follow me until I reach the back entrance leading to the garage.

Only then do I quicken my steps.

And once I'm certain nobody is following me, I break into a run.

The cool air brushes against my face as I hurry towards the far end of the garage.

My mother's portrait is still pressed against my chest.

I finally stop beside one of the parked vehicles.

Taking a deep breath, I place the portrait carefully on the bonnet.

Then I look at my hand.

Blood has smeared across my palm, and several tiny pieces of glass are still embedded in my skin.

“Wonderful.”

I pull out a handkerchief from my bag and begin wiping away the blood.

A particularly sharp fragment catches my attention.

I carefully pull it out.

Then another.

I wince.

Damn it.

I look at my palm again.

I've been through worse.

Much worse.

In my previous life, I had endured things that made a few pieces of glass seem like nothing.

That psychiatric hospital had taught me just how cruel human beings could be.

There were days when I had wished for nothing more than to close my eyes and never open them again.

Days when I had been treated like I wasn't human.

Days when I had begged people to believe me, only to be punished for speaking.

Compared to that, this was nothing.

A slap.

A few cuts.

A broken portrait.

I could handle all of it.

Besides, Hellen had just made my work considerably easier.

I smile at myself.

“One down.”

“Who?”

The unexpected voice makes me turn.

My eyes land on a tall figure approaching me.

Valerian.

I blink.

For a moment, I almost fail to recognize him.

He's dressed entirely in black.

Black trousers, a black shirt, and a black jacket. Even his shoes are black.

I've seen him in formal clothes before, but never like this.

Usually, there's something about his appearance that makes him look like the composed professor who would rather spend an entire evening reading than entertain unnecessary conversations.

Today, however, he looks considerably different.

Darker.

More intimidating.

Almost untouchable.

I find myself staring.

His eyes move from my face to my injured hand.

Then they settle on the portrait resting on the bonnet.

“Who?”

I look at him.

“Hmm?”

He gives me a flat look.

“Who did this?”

I glance down at my hand.

“Oh. It's nothing.”

His gaze returns to my face.

I know exactly what he's looking at.

The slap mark.

I quickly touch my cheek.

“Just a little accident.”

He doesn't respond.

Instead, he looks at the portrait again.

Then back at me.

“An accident broke the frame, injured your hand and left a mark on your face?”

I purse my lips.

“When you put it that way, it sounds rather unfortunate.”

“Lynn.”

There it is.

That particular tone.

The one that tells me he isn't amused.

I sigh.

“Do you have a thing for slaps?”

His eyebrows draw together.

“What?”

I shrug.

“First time you saw me with a slap mark, you interrogated me. Now you're doing it again.”

He stares at me.

I look down at my hand, trying to remove another tiny piece of glass.

“At this point, I'm beginning to think you're keeping count.”

“You're avoiding my question.”

“And you're avoiding my essential question.”

He exhales through his nose.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Then he steps closer.

“Let me see your hand.”

I instinctively pull it back.

“It's fine.”

“That wasn't a request.”

I look up at him.

Seriously?

Does this man ever ask nicely?

Nevertheless, I reluctantly extend my hand.

He examines my palm, his expression becoming increasingly displeased as he notices the remaining pieces of glass.

“Did you remove these yourself?”

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn't see anyone volunteering.”

His eyes lift to mine.

“Where did this happen?”

I glance towards the building.

“Inside.”

“Who?”

I smile.

“Professor, you're becoming repetitive.”

“And you're becoming irritating.”

I gasp.

“That's terribly unprofessional.”

He gives me a look.

I grin.

For some reason, teasing him is becoming one of my favorite activities.

He reaches into his jacket and takes out a clean handkerchief.

“Hold still.”

Before I can ask what he's doing, he gently takes my hand and begins removing one of the remaining glass fragments.

I watch him.

His movements are careful, almost annoyingly so.

“You're dressed differently today,” I comment.

He doesn't look up.

“Am I?”

“You're wearing black.”

“I can see that.”

“All black.”

“Your observation skills are impressive.”

I bite back a smile.

There he is.

My favorite professor.

I watch him finish cleaning the small wound before wrapping his handkerchief around my palm.

“There. Don't remove it until someone properly treats the wound.”

I look at my hand.

Then at him.

“Thank you.”

He releases it and finally looks at the portrait.

“Is that what you ran out here to save?”

My smile fades slightly.

I turn towards my mother's picture.

“Yes.”

He studies it for a moment.

“Who was she?”

“My mother.”

Something shifts in his expression.

I gently lift the portrait from the bonnet and hold it against my chest again.

“She died a few years ago.”

He doesn't say anything.

I look at the smiling woman in the picture.

“They took her portrait down and put it in a storeroom. I just wanted to bring it home.”

Valerian's eyes move towards the building.

“And the injuries?”

I shrug.

“Occupational hazards.”

He looks back at me.

“Lynn.”

I sigh.

“Fine. My stepsister slapped me.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

"And your hand?"

“She broke the portrait. I fell on the glass.”

For several seconds, he remains silent.

Then he asks, “Your stepsister?”

I nod.

“Yes.”

“And your father was there?”

I look at him.

“How did you know?”

“Because you look like someone who has just been disappointed by the people who were supposed to protect her.”

I stare at him.

Well.

That's unexpectedly perceptive.

I look away, pretending to be fascinated by the portrait.

“Don't worry, Professor. I'm used to it.”

He says nothing.

But something about his silence makes me uncomfortable.

I shift the portrait in my arms.

“Anyway, I should get going.”

“Have you eaten?”

I blink.

Of all the questions he could ask, that wasn't one I expected.

“Yes.”

He looks at me.

I look back.

A few seconds pass.

“Fine,” I mutter. “No.”

He shakes his head slightly.

“Come.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere you can have that hand properly treated.”

I look at him, then at my palm.

“Professor, I assure you, I'm not dying.”

“I'm aware.”

“Then why are you behaving as though I've lost a limb?”

He gives me a long look.

“Do you always argue this much when someone is trying to help you?”

I smile.

“Only when they're bossy.”

He turns and starts walking.

“Then I suggest you prepare yourself. I'm not particularly accommodating.”

I look at his retreating figure.

All black.

Broad shoulders.

An annoyingly calm demeanor.I shake my head before following him.

Perhaps my revenge plans won't be the only complicated thing in this new life.

Because Professor Valerian is slowly becoming a mystery I haven't quite figured out.