Chapter 98 Bear With It, It's Gonna Hurt
Upon hearing the woman's outcry, Damian's brow furrowed, his mood darkening like an impending storm. His voice dropped an octave as he demanded, "Why are you screaming?" He had little tolerance for such disruptions.
The woman, cowed by his formidable presence, ceased her shouting and cast a timid glance in his direction. "You... you struck me, and you even..."
She had intended to accuse him of cursing her, but he hadn't uttered a single profanity.
Unable to accurately portray his demeanor and too fearful to speak further, the woman turned to Ashley, whose demeanor seemed more approachable. "You crashed into me and destroyed my stall; you owe me compensation!"
Ashley offered a wry smile in response. She had seen her fair share of con artists in news reports and case files, and now she was encountering one in person. Leaning in, she addressed the woman. "Madam, you ran a red light."
Though tricycles often disregarded traffic signals in many cities, it was clear that strict legal enforcement was necessary.
The woman, her neck rigid and her demeanor a mix of uncertainty and feigned bravado, retorted, "You hit me; it's not my fault. My tricycle is ruined, and my body... it hurts too. You need to pay me."
Impatience began to etch itself onto Damian's features. He had no interest in wasting time on this matter, so he reached for his phone, intending to call the police.
"Are you calling the cops?" Ashley inquired.
"What else?" Damian responded. "Do you want to prolong this situation?"
Ashley conceded. "Alright, whether it's involving the police or dealing with insurance, we need to follow the procedure. It seems we won't resolve this in less than a few hours."
The mere mention of the police struck fear into the woman. She staggered to her feet, lunging in an attempt to snatch Damian's phone. "You hit me, and now you want to call the cops on me? Are you even human?"
Ashley chuckled. "Madam, what exactly are you implying? If we don't involve the police, are you planning on extorting us?"
The woman's gaze landed on the gleaming emblem of the car parked by the roadside. She didn't recognize the brand, but the vehicle's luxurious appearance was unmistakable, clearly not a standard model from Ford or Chevy. "Involving the police seems like a hassle. How about this: Give me... two thousand dollars, and we can settle this privately?"
Two thousand? That was quite a demand.
Was her entire setup even worth that much?
Without needing to see Damian's expression, Ashley could guess how much he wanted to give the woman's tricycle another kick. "Madam, do you recognize this car? Allow me to introduce you. It's a Rolls-Royce Phantom, imported with all the options, with a market value of over ten million. A minor scratch could cost a fortune in repairs. We swerved to avoid you, and now the chassis is damaged. When the technician comes to assess it, will you be able to afford the bill?"
Upon hearing this, the woman was left speechless, standing there as if turned to stone. "It's... that expensive?"
Ashley continued, "Even if we did hit your tricycle, you running a red light is the primary violation, breaking traffic laws. If we were to split the responsibility for the car accident equally, and we settle at one million, could you come up with five hundred thousand?"
The woman's knees nearly gave out beneath her. "You... you're serious?"
Judging by her appearance, she likely couldn't afford the repair costs, and Ashley worried that if things escalated, Damian might become upset and blame her. Recalling a previous incident involving someone named Lee, she calmly suggested, "If you don't believe me, we can call the police right now and handle this by the book. The camera footage is crystal clear."
The woman clenched her fists, clearly dissatisfied, and muttered under her breath, "But what about my car? I just set up my stall, and I haven't made any money today."
"Just pack up your things, and you can still make it to the night market," Ashley suggested.
The woman, still reluctant to let the matter go, tried to negotiate. "How about five hundred? Let's call it even."
Damian was growing increasingly impatient. If she uttered another word of nonsense, he would certainly have Thomas come and settle the matter once and for all.
Casting a glance back at the car, Ashley gently reminded her, "Madam, are you sure you want the money?"
The woman, her head still spinning with dreams of a windfall, reluctantly conceded, "Well, just my bad luck."
Ashley pondered to herself, wondering who the truly unlucky one was.
A small, amused smirk played on Damian's lips, marking the first time he found himself appreciating Ashley's logical approach to dealing with people.
However, a question lingered in his mind. Why could she converse so calmly with an unreasonable stranger, yet fail to do the same with him?
In a show of sympathy, Ashley assisted the woman in righting her cart and tidying the mess. Several prepared side dishes lay scattered on the ground, eliciting a heavy sigh from the woman.
"Next time, don't run a red light. It's so dangerous!" Ashley advised, her tone firm yet gentle.
The woman departed, her face etched with a dark expression.
Fortunately, the street was not bustling with activity, saving them from the prying eyes of onlookers. Damian was grateful; he had no desire for his face to become the town's latest gossip.
Once back in the car, Damian's anger simmered beneath the surface. As he ignited the engine and reversed, another loud thump echoed from the undercarriage.
The sound was almost symbolic, as if Damian was channeling his anger towards the woman through the car.
"She can't afford it, and even if the insurance and the cops show up, what good will that do? Just think of yourself as doing a good deed for the day," Ashley suggested, her voice soothing.
Damian, however, was unfazed by the minor repair costs. He thought to himself, "Ashley's expertise is all theory, no practical use when it actually matters."
"You don't want to hold her accountable either, or you wouldn't have let me talk that long," Ashley pointed out, her tone challenging.
"I'm not as self-righteous as you. I won't hesitate to pursue justice when it's warranted. If someone can't pay, they can reflect and rehabilitate in jail," Damian retorted, his agitation evident.
Ashley couldn't help but laugh at his sour mood. "What do you say? Should we go after her? There's still time."
Damian shot her a look, his eyes blazing.
Ashley glanced down and noticed blood on the back of Damian's hand. "You're bleeding," she said, her voice laced with surprise.
Damian hadn't noticed it before, but now he felt a sting. It must have happened when he had instinctively shielded her head; his hand was badly scraped. Had Ashley's head taken the impact, the outcome could have been much worse.
She still had the patience to make excuses for that clueless older sister. Incredible!
"I need to catch up with her. If I can't pay for the car repairs, the least she could do is cover my medical bills," Damian grumbled, his tone laced with annoyance.
For some reason, Ashley found this amusing and stifled a laugh. "You're fine. It's not a big deal. Just go home and take care of it."
The word "home" made her sulk again.
Wouldn't this give Damian yet another reason to waltz right into her house?
He parked the car beneath building number eight, pressed the elevator button, walked up to her door, and let himself in.
His movements were too natural, too familiar.
Upon seeing the stack of boxes in the living room, his face visibly darkened. "Ashley, you're living in a house, not a pigsty."
Ashley agreed it wasn't aesthetically pleasing. "I can't handle these big boxes alone. I'll get some help this weekend."
Damian was frustrated. "I could..."
Forget it. She never saw him.
Scouring through her belongings, Ashley managed to find some rubbing alcohol and cotton swabs, along with a few band-aids. She placed them on the table, her supplies looking rather pitiful. "This is all I have. Maybe we should go to the hospital?"
Damian's hand rested on the table, his knuckles prominent, each finger a testament to his well-cared-for life. "Can't you do it?"
The cut wasn't big but looked severe with all the blood—a whole palm drenched in red.
The damage seemed worse than that of the car.
Ashley unscrewed the rubbing alcohol cap and soaked a swab. "Brace yourself; disinfecting will sting."
The moment the swab touched the wound, Damian involuntarily winced.
She quickly stopped. "Did I hurt you? I'll be more gentle."
Lowering her head, her breath, cool and light, whispered across the back of his hand as she continued her delicate work, stirring a tranquil breeze over his stirred emotions.
