Chapter 44 A Collision Every Meeting
Try to off herself?
Ophelia was flabbergasted. What kind of a reason was that? Did she look crazy enough to commit suicide?
No matter the reason, she was certain this man had intentionally crashed into them.
"And just who might you be? Didn't you notice this is a Fitzgerald car? Aren't you afraid of bringing trouble upon yourself from the Fitzgeralds?"
A mocking chill simmered in Blaise's eyes. "The Fitzgerald family?"
Ophelia clenched her teeth. The Fitzgeralds were a force no one dared to mess with in Silver Frost Capital.
Ophelia didn't care who this man was. No matter how powerful he might be, she was convinced he couldn't hold a candle to the Fitzgerald clan.
She snorted with contempt, "What's the matter? Scared?"
Blaise raised an eyebrow, a hint of scornful amusement in his eyes. "Oh, please! Not even close!"
Ophelia's face tensed. "To think you'd dismiss the Fitzgeralds so lightly. Just you wait until I tell my fiancé; he won't let you off the hook."
The amusement in Blaise's eyes deepened.
How amusing.
This was the first time he'd encountered someone brazen enough to threaten him.
With that in mind, Blaise turned to his henchman and shouted, "Listen up, from now on, if you see her car on this street, ram it every time."
Ophelia's face went deathly pale.
This guy?
Was he a complete lunatic?!
What had she done to provoke him?
Blaise glanced back at her nonchalantly. "I'll be waiting for you to come settle the score."
With that said, and the same smile still on his face, Blaise turned and walked away.
As the man disappeared and the five or six cars vanished into the night, Ophelia felt the tension she'd been holding onto begin to ease.
The whole ordeal had felt like a nightmare, and she was positive this night had been the closest she'd ever come to death.
She knew nothing about the man, which meant she couldn’t make any rash moves.
Who knew how many more men were inside those five or six cars that had been parked beside him?
Ophelia fiercely suppressed the fear and anger welling up inside her, forcing herself to swallow the bitterness for now.
Turning back to look for Sandra, she found Sandra had already passed out.
Rubbing her aching forehead, Ophelia stomped her foot in frustration. In their current state, how were they supposed to confront Cecily? Showing up now would only give Cecily a reason to laugh at them.
The driver, injured and hobbling, approached Ophelia and asked, "Ms. Ophelia, shall we continue to the apartment?"
"Go? To what end?" She fumed. "To be the butt of Cecily’s jokes?"
She didn't need a mirror to know how disheveled she looked.
"To the hospital," Ophelia roared, her spirit unwilling as she turned to leave.
Cecily couldn’t fathom her own luck; she had dodged another bullet by sheer chance.
Ophelia was absolutely fuming.
...
Meanwhile, Cecily was at home, oblivious to the recent events.
She called Darian's assistant, Larkin. Standing in the living room, Larkin was flabbergasted at the sight of his sleeping boss on the couch.
Only Cecily had such a touch.
Looking at Cecily's indifferent face, he said, "Miss Cecily, thank you for taking care of Mr. Fitzgerald. It's been ages since he had a rest like today."
Cecily snorted inwardly at the thought of Darian's self-inflicted plight.
"Yeah, take him back with you," she said.
"Go back?" Larkin's face twisted uncomfortably. "Miss Cecily, how am I supposed to take Mr. Fitzgerald back?"
What if he woke up at the slightest touch?
He was finally getting some shut-eye, so if Mr. Fitzgerald was awoken, Larkin felt like it might be the end of him.
With a pleading look, Larkin begged, "Miss Cecily, could you possibly let Mr. Fitzgerald stay the night here? Once he wakes up, we'll be on our way. Is that okay?"
"Not a chance," Cecily refused flat out. "I live alone, so how could I have two men over at night? How is that appropriate?"
Larkin was at a loss. He knew it wasn't appropriate, but he was out of options.
Again, he implored her, "What if I leave? Would that be alright?"
Cecily quirked her lips, "What's the difference between having one man over and two?"
Right then, Darian's brow twitched.
Larkin's heart skipped a beat. He whispered even lower, his voice a mix of panic and pleading, "Miss Cecily, we're out of options, right? If Mr. Fitzgerald wakes up, wouldn’t all your efforts be wasted? Please, you go get some rest. Mr. Fitzgerald is sound asleep and won't be waking up soon; he won’t disturb you."
His eyes were a portrait of sincerity as Larkin beheld Cecily, hoping she might show mercy and let Darian stay.
Cecily glanced up at the clock on the wall, realizing, just as Larkin had feared, that there truly was no other way.
Setting the alarm, she said, “Be here at five in the morning to pick him up.”
Seeing Cecily relent, Larkin exhaled heavily with relief, “Okay, don’t worry, I’ll be on time.”
Cecily eyed Darian. He was lying on the couch with closed eyes and steady breathing. She turned and retreated to the bedroom, grabbing a blanket to hand to Larkin, “Remember to lock the door on your way out.”
Larkin, after looking at the blanket in his hands, was visibly touched. It seemed Miss Cecily still had kindness in her heart. Despite how Mr. Fitzgerald had treated her, she was willing to help him.
“Thank you, Miss Cecily.”
Larkin hurriedly and carefully covered Darian with the blanket.
“Miss Cecily, go get some rest,” he assured her.
“Hmm.”
Turning back to her bedroom, completely drained from the night's turmoil, Cecily set her alarm for four-thirty and fell into bed.
After ensuring that Darian was covered, Larkin left quietly.
Ophelia and Sandra had gone to the hospital. Ophelia's injuries were minor; they were just superficial wounds, but Sandra wasn’t so lucky.
She suffered a mild concussion and was still unconscious.
…
The following morning came early.
An alarm cut through the silence.
The man on the couch, like a satiated beast, slowly opened his eyes.
Surveying the unfamiliar surroundings, Darian's eyes narrowed with a sharp and frosty alertness.
He sat up, noticing the blanket on him and realizing he’d spent the night at Cecily’s place, which softened the cold look in his eyes slightly.
He had slept soundly, something he hadn’t known in what felt like ages. Now his body felt light and relaxed.
Fresh from the bathroom, dressed in a cream-colored knitted ensemble, with her hair in a neat ponytail, Cecily walked out.
Hearing her, Darian’s gaze drifted over to her and his expression flickered involuntarily.
The soft light of early morning gilded her face with a dreamy halo; she was effortlessly beautiful.
Cecily glanced at Darian, who was sitting on the couch. His jet-black hair was slightly tousled.
His chiseled features gave away no emotion, and at the moment, his shirt was unhitched with two buttons undone casually, revealing a hint of his seductive collarbone.
Cecily raised an eyebrow, "Awake? If so, you better get moving."
Darian's dark eyes followed Cecily as she moved. His lips parted slightly, harboring unsaid words.
Then the doorbell rang, and Cecily went straight to answer it.
Larkin was right on schedule; he rang the doorbell at five o'clock sharp, not a minute early or late.
"Good morning, Miss Cecily."
Cecily nodded, "Morning, come in."
"Thank you, Miss Cecily." Larkin stepped inside and swapped out his shoes. He was carrying an assortment of bags, and after noticing that Darian had awakened, he approached promptly, "Mr. Fitzgerald."
Darian nodded in acknowledgment.
Larkin handed over the bags he was carrying, "Mr. Fitzgerald, here's your suit, freshly pressed just how you like it. And here are your toiletries and breakfast."
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