Chapter 21 The Popular Person
As darkness fell, the city of Aucester was bathed in a vibrant glow, its lights twinkling like stars in the night sky.
Brooklyn Mitchell shrugged off her pristine white coat, her bag already in hand, prepared to leave the confines of her office and return to the sanctuary of her home. Just as she was about to step out, a voice echoed from behind her. "Dr. Mitchell, did that handsome stranger reach out to you again?" Sienna's words were laced with curiosity.
"No, he was merely playing games," Brooklyn responded with a dismissive shrug, her words devoid of any embellishment. There was no hint of her previous encounter with Quinn.
Sienna sighed, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Dr. Mitchell, you're remarkable in every way. You're intelligent, insightful, skilled, and competent. But when it comes to men, you could use a little guidance."
Sienna was ready to impart her wisdom, her experience in love, which was admittedly limited, to Brooklyn.
"Men are drawn to vulnerability, it allows them to showcase their strength and protectiveness. A hint of helplessness can trigger a man's instinct to protect," Sienna advised as they stepped into the elevator, joining a few other doctors from different departments.
Sienna lowered her voice, her words barely a whisper. "For instance, even if you're capable of handling a situation, pretend you're not."
Brooklyn's gaze remained fixed ahead, the steel walls of the elevator reflecting the silhouettes of the occupants.
"I could handle it myself, but allowing a man to assist, even if it delays progress and wastes resources, is considered low EQ behavior," she retorted, her words causing the doctors behind her to exchange surprised glances.
Sienna sighed again, her frustration evident. "Dr. Mitchell, if you insist on equality when dealing with men, then you're emotionally inept."
Brooklyn shrugged nonchalantly. "Everyone has their own personality and approach. I can't feign the gentleness you're describing."
Sienna clenched her fists in frustration. "Ms. Mitchell, don't you ever consider your future? Do you intend to remain single forever?"
Brooklyn's mind wandered to her past, the three tumultuous years she spent married to Sebastian. She had concluded that her life as a single woman was far more satisfying than her married life. If marriage didn't guarantee happiness, why should she sacrifice her freedom?
"I believe remaining single isn't a terrible fate. I've made peace with that," Brooklyn responded, her voice steady, a testament to the internal struggle she had overcome.
"Fine, you win. But don't come crying to me when you scare off all the good men," Sienna conceded, her thoughts echoing her words. 'Dr. Mitchell is a force to be reckoned with. She's beyond my understanding.'
As they exited the hospital, Brooklyn braced herself against the biting wind, her grip tightening around her bag. The pain in her knee flared up again, making her wince.
Brooklyn hailed a taxi and directed the driver to her apartment.
Fumbling for her keys, she attempted to unlock her door, only to find the key wouldn't turn. Illuminating the lock with her phone's flashlight, she realized it had been jammed.
Brooklyn scoffed, her thoughts bitter. 'Such a petty tactic! Jamming my lock. Is this a protest or a warning? A reminder or a threat?'
Unable to gain entry, Brooklyn called the property management, explaining her predicament. A staff member arrived promptly, apologizing for the inconvenience. "Miss, we'll rectify this as soon as possible. However, if we need to change the lock, you'll need to provide proof of ownership or an ID."
Brooklyn had left her home with only her phone and lipstick, her wallet and ID left behind.
"I don't have those with me. But I do live here, you can verify that."
The staff member apologized again, his hands tied by regulations. "I'm sorry, but we need to see your ID to unlock the door."
Brooklyn scoffed, her anger simmering. "I've lived here for nearly three years. I own this apartment. Don't you recognize me?"
Despite her protests, the staff member remained firm, leaving Brooklyn feeling helpless.
"My ID is inside. If you help me open the door, I can show it to you."
Their conversation reached a stalemate.
After several heated exchanges, he suggested, "Your husband's ID will suffice. You could call him."
Brooklyn's anger flared. "No. Verifying my ownership isn't difficult, just check the surveillance footage of my comings and goings."
She had rented the apartment, but admitting that would only make the staff more resistant.
"That could work."
Brooklyn insisted on viewing the surveillance footage, not just to gain entry, but to uncover who was plotting against her.
As she suspected, the footage from the previous night revealed a man in a black sweatshirt and a baseball cap lurking outside her apartment. He kept his head down, his face hidden from the camera, before eventually leaving.
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