Chapter505
Natalie averted her eyes, an embarrassed expression on her face. "I’m sorry, Nathan."
"Natalie, being kind isn’t always a virtue."
Nathan gently brushed her hanging hair behind her ear, catching her off-guard.
"Why?" she asked, not quite understanding his meaning, "You said you saw me as a sister."
Natalie had always trusted Roger, but what she did not realize was that the man before her was not Roger Wild; he was Nathan.
Nathan wanted to say that it was Roger Wild, that coward, who had made promises to her, not him. Yet, at this moment, he too felt like a coward. He could not bring himself to tell Natalie he was actually Nathan. The thought of Natalie growing distant and cold scared him more than anything.
"Natalie, people change," he said softly.
"I’m sorry... Nathan, I see you as a brother," Natalie murmured, staring down at her toes, her voice a blend of confusion and guilt, "I can’t reciprocate your feelings."
"But Natalie, I have the right to make my own choices, and we can’t control our emotions," he insisted.
Nathan bent down to meet Natalie’s gaze, but she would not look at him, her rejection clear and unyielding. He gently tousled Natalie's hair, saying, "Remember, Natalie, I’m here for you, and you have nothing to feel guilty about."
Natalie did not understand and was afraid to ask, dreading the answers she might not want to hear.
Given Nathan’s nature, he wanted to follow her into her room, to keep watch over her—he was not comfortable leaving Natalie alone. But in the end, he compromised. He stared at the firmly shut door, feeling disappointed in himself.
"Roger, are you interfering again?" Nathan muttered under his breath, talking to himself.
Descending the stairs, he stepped into the night that had already enveloped everything.
A tall, lean figure leaned against the building; the red glow of his cigarette was visible in the dim light.
The moment Nathan stepped outside, he sensed it—an incoming punch cut through the air toward him. He had a cold smirk on his face as he reacted swiftly, dodging and counterattacking.
The two figures tangled in a blur of movement, exchanging blows in a fierce battle of fists and feet.
After several minutes, neither had gained the upper hand.
"Oliver, I’ve been wanting to hit you for a while now," Nathan said, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, his tone taunting, "Have you been watching for a while? Enjoyed the show?"
Nathan's punch to Oliver's abdomen was one he could have dodged, but he took the hit instead.
From a young age, Oliver was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and few had gotten the better of him as an adult. The pain of that punch made him grit his teeth—not just physically, but a deep, soulful ache. He wondered how Natalie had felt when she was brutally kicked in the stomach. And to think the person who saved her was the man in front of him, not himself.
With a cold glance, Oliver looked at Nathan and walked away. He was seeking an outlet to vent his anger, but what good would fighting do? In the end, the most important thing was Natalie. Alas, she did not hold a place for him in her heart.
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