Chapter 4 (Good Side)

CHAPTER 4

ANGIE’s POV

Mark’s father returned to the room pushing a wheelchair. He was clearly serious about his promise to drive me home himself.

I watched in silence as he unfolded the wheelchair. I realized he intended to use it so he wouldn't have any trouble moving me downstairs. Once the wheelchair was ready, he stepped toward me. His face came so close to mine that I couldn't help but feel incredibly awkward.

"W-what are you doing?" I asked, my voice trembling with nerves.

"I’m going to carry you to the wheelchair, Miss. So, please stay still. If you move around too much, I might accidentally grab the wrong part of you," he said simply. His warning immediately made me freeze. I was suddenly terrified that he might unintentionally touch something he shouldn't.

Despite my discomfort, I let him pick me up. My face was pressed so close to his neck that I could catch his scent. He smelled amazing. The cologne he used was incredibly masculine and intoxicating.

"T-thank you," was all I could manage once he settled me into the chair.

"Stop saying thank you. I've heard enough gratitude for one day," he replied as he began pushing the wheelchair.

As we left the room, I was further amazed to find that their mansion even had its own elevator. Mark truly grew up in luxury. From the moment I met him, I knew he came from a well-off family, but I never imagined their wealth was on this scale. It finally made sense why Aunt Marisa was so supportive of her daughter stealing my boyfriend—she saw Mark as a golden ticket. She’s exactly the type of a mother who wants her daughter to marry for money just to keep her own wallet full.

We were silent for a few seconds inside the elevator. Neither of us spoke, so I kept my mouth shut as well.

"What is your name, by the way? May I know it? I've been calling you 'Miss' all this time, but I still don't know who you are," he asked just as we reached the ground floor.

"Oh, m-my name isn't really important enough for you to keep asking. But you can just call me Gie," I said, gripping the armrests of the wheelchair tightly. I didn't want to give him my full name. I was certain that when he saw Mark, he would mention hitting a woman with his car today.

"Gie? Okay, Ms. Gie. That's a nice name," he complimented.

I don't know why, but I felt myself warming up to Mark’s father. He seemed to have a kind heart, unlike his son. Even though he looked stern, his actions showed a genuine sense of humanity.

"Only the name is nice. My body is a different story," I muttered under my breath, but he heard me.

"What’s wrong with your body that you feel the need to belittle it?"

"Given how big I am, do I even need to belittle it? You must be joking, Sir," I replied sarcastically.

"I don't get it... I don't see any problem with your body. Why aren't you confident in yourself, Ms. Gie?"

"Who could be confident in my position, Sir? Did you know that because I’m fat, my boyfriend cheated on me?" I blurted out. I couldn't stop my tongue from bringing up the subject of my boyfriend—who happened to be his own son.

"Your boyfriend cheated on you?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised that a man would do such a thing to me.

"Yes... he cheated. That’s why I was so out of it earlier. He's the reason for everything," I said bitterly. My lips began to quiver as my emotions took over again. I knew I was about to cry.

"This accident? Being hit by your car? The physical pain I feel right now is nothing compared to the pain in my heart. He cheated on me, and I witnessed the betrayal with my own eyes," I sobbed, the tears flowing freely once more.

I thought the pain had subsided. I thought I had run out of tears. I was wrong. Even now, Mark still had a devastating effect on me. The pain is still here, and every time his name pop on my head, I feel anger. 

"I don't know you well, Ms. Gie, and I don't know the whole story. But I can tell you one thing: don't waste your tears on someone who hurt you. He's not worthy of your time," he advised.

I didn't know how to react to his advice, knowing that Mark was the very reason for my tears. 

"You're right, Sir. Your advice sounds good... if only it were that easy to stop caring about someone. But I loved him. I poured my entire life into loving him. It's hard to just forget. I’m still in the process of moving on," I told him.

"True, love is a difficult battle... How old are you, anyway?" he asked.

"Twenty-four, Sir. And you? How old are you?" I asked in return.

"I'm 45... and I have a son who's actually the same age as you," he said, bringing his son into the conversation.

"You're 45, Sir? If you hadn't told me, I never would have guessed you were that old," I remarked, trying to steer the conversation away from any more talk about Mark.

"Many people tell me that, but I’m honest and proud of my age," he replied, a small smile playing on his lips.

Our conversation had gone on so long that he almost forgot he was supposed to be driving me home. He was interrupted by a call on his cellphone. Based on his reaction, it was an urgent matter at his office. In the end, he had his driver take me home instead.

It was probably for the best; that way, he wouldn't find out my real name.

But in fairness, he has a good side compared to his son.