Chapter 27 Please help me
Justin's Point of View:
“Is the room properly cleaned and well-ventilated?” I asked my domestic workers for the umpteenth time, and they sighed, clearly frustrated.
“Mr Justin, you've been asking the same question since yesterday. There is no need to be nervous. I personally supervised the renovation and made sure that nothing was out of place,” Ella, my secretary replied with a bright smile, and gestured to the five workers to leave the room. The workers bowed and left, and I was lost in my thoughts as I looked around the pink-themed room.
“Nervous? I'm not nervous. Who told me I am nervous?” I stuttered, trying my best to keep calm. I crossed my shoulders, my eyes meticulously taking in the room's decoration. It looked beautiful, but I was scared that it wasn't the best. Ella shrugged her shoulders, unconvinced by my excuse but unwilling to argue with me.
“Miss Lydia will soon be here, Sir. I have sent the driver to pick her up,” Ella informed me, but her gaze was fixed on the file in her hand.
My eyes widened, and I turned to face her. “Driver? Which driver did you send?” I asked, slowly moving towards me. “I specifically instructed you to drive down and get her from the airport. Why didn't you?”
Ella bowed, her eyes covered with remorse. “I was in charge of arranging her room and employing new maids,” she paused, giving me a look like I was the cause of the delay. “It was a lot, and when I was done I had to attend to the company's matter and take care of your schedule.”
I squinted my eyes, observing her closely. “All of what you mentioned are your jobs. And I'm paying you really well to do them. So what is your excuse?” I paused and scowled. “Or are you too tired and need a replacement?” I whispered my threat, and Ella's eyes widened.
Of course, I was just scaring her. Ella had been my secretary since the dawn of time, I can't just sack her, she knows me better than anyone, and she knows how to hide bodies (not kidding)
Ella knelt and bowed her head. “I'm sorry, Sir. This will never repeat itself,” she apologized with remorse.
I shrugged my shoulders. “You better not. Unless you've gotten a better job elsewhere,” I said, and once again looked around the room.
“Ella, do you like this room and the theme?” I asked, and she furrowed her brows.
“Sir?” She stammered, clearly shy.
“Do you like this room?” I asked patiently, and she looked around.
“It's pink, and it has a lot of flowers, teddy bears, tiaras, and princess gowns. Miss Lydia will surely like it,” Ella replied with a stern expression.
I arched my brows at her. I knew she was avoiding my question, and I wanted to be sure that a lady likes it. “Do you like it? That was my question,” I asked, my voice gentler this time.
Ella lowered her gaze. “I'm not a Pink fan sir. I prefer yellow, and games, pants, and football are more of my hobbies. So this room is not my preference,” she explained with a grimace. My eyes dropped, and she immediately realized how I felt. “But that doesn't mean the room is bad. I don't like it, but another girl might,” she stammered.
There wasn't enough time to respond, because there was a car horn, announcing Lydia's presence.
The car's horn cut through my thoughts like a blade. And my spine straightened instinctively. For a split second, I considered going downstairs myself, then stopped. No. I needed to see her walk into this house on her own terms. I needed to know she wasn’t being dragged, pressured, or cornered, at least not yet.
“Dismiss the staff from this floor,” I said to Ella quietly. And she nodded once before slipping out.
The corridor emptied, leaving the house unnaturally still. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you hear your own breathing. But I was used to it. I grew up with this kind of silence, and my body had gotten accustomed to it.
I stood near the doorway, hands clasped behind my back, and my eyes fixed on the hall below.
The front door opened, and Lydia stepped in. She looked smaller than I remembered…. not weak, never has. But a little weighed down, like she’d packed more than clothes into those bags she was pulling. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, and her eyes looked around, alert. She didn't look excited or smiling, instead, she looked like she was searching for something. Like she was observing.
“Good. That meant she was still herself.”
“Why are you letting a lady carry such a heavy load? Aren't you man enough?” I asked the frightened driver, and I regretted my words the minute Lydia glared at me.
“You're so misogynistic, aren't you?” Lydia asked with a frown. “For your information, I was the one who insisted on carrying. Am I man enough?”
Her words reminded me of the last sentence she said before her accident, and it was a confirmation that I was indeed dense. I squeezed my face apologetically and turned to my driver.
The driver took her luggage, murmuring something under his breath as he left. Lydia stood there alone for a moment, her fingers tightening around the strap of her handbag. Then her gaze lifted, and found me.
“Welcome,” I replied. Not bothering to move close to her, she maintained the distance. “You didn’t have to rush here if you weren’t ready,” I said.
She huffed a small, humorless laugh. “You don’t strike me as someone who enjoys waiting.”
I smiled faintly. “Only when it matters.”
Her eyes flicked past me, taking in the house, the marble floors, the chandelier, the silk curtains, and the expensive chairs. But she wasn’t impressed. That mattered more than admiration ever could.
“I’ll show you your room,” I said, turning toward the stairs. Lydia followed me without protest. Ella nodded and excused herself.
When we reached the room, I opened the door and stepped aside.
Lydia froze. Her eyes swept over the pink walls, the flowers, the excessive softness. The silence stretched just a little too long.
I braced myself.
“…Wow,” she finally said. Not in awe or delight, but in confusion.