Chapter 45 The Name of a Friend
Chapter 45 The Name of a Friend
Through the door, the man's deep, magnetic voice came through, carrying a hint of roguishness mixed with an undeniable matter-of-factness.
"Monica, don't forget—we're 'friends' now. Friends look out for each other. It's perfectly normal."
Monica was left speechless.
Coming from his mouth, that word sounded like a carefully laid trap, and she seemed to have no way out.
Friends look out for each other.
This bold declaration was like a stone dropped into still water, creating ripples in Monica's heart that wouldn't settle.
She knew it was an excuse—a clumsy yet domineering excuse. But somehow, this very excuse was like an airtight net, blocking all her attempts to refuse and keep her distance.
It was also like a warm flame, carefully lighting a spark in her heart that had been frozen by life's hardships.
She didn't argue anymore. That stubborn resistance in her heart crumbled completely before his unreasonable "friendship theory."
The next day, Monica surprisingly overslept.
Probably because the biggest weight on her mind had finally lifted, she slept unusually deeply.
She only woke when her bedroom door was knocked so loudly it seemed to shake.
"Monica, breakfast is getting cold." Outside the door was Shane's impatient urging.
Monica jolted upright, glanced at her phone, and immediately gasped.
Less than forty minutes until work.
She rushed out of the bedroom in a panic, her hair a mess like a bird's nest, her face still foggy from just waking up.
At the dining table, the man was already sitting there impeccably dressed, elegantly flipping through a financial magazine.
In front of him sat what could only be described as a perfect breakfast—lightly toasted sandwiches with neatly trimmed edges, stuffed with thick cheese and tender fried eggs, alongside a steaming cup of freshly ground coffee.
The aroma boldly invaded her nostrils, awakening her sleeping taste buds.
Monica looked at the breakfast, then at her own disheveled appearance, her cheeks heating up uncontrollably. "I... I overslept."
Shane lifted his eyes from behind the magazine, glanced at her, raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying a barely noticeable disdain: "You have twenty minutes."
Monica immediately sprang into action like a wound-up rabbit, rushing into the bathroom to wash up and change at top speed.
When she emerged, Shane had already set out her sandwich and coffee.
She sat down and took a bite. The familiar taste spread through her mouth.
He remembered all her preferences—no tomatoes, but double cheese.
Afterward, she was half-forced by Shane into his black Bentley.
These days continued for over half a month.
Their way of getting along became subtle yet routine. In the morning, he'd make breakfast and drive her to work.
In the evening, if she didn't work late, she'd stop by to buy some pastries he liked, or try making a simple home-cooked dish or two.
They seemed to have fallen into an unspoken "emotional cohabitation."
Few words were exchanged, yet they could always find a strange harmony in the same space.
When he worked, she'd curl up on the sofa reading case files, neither disturbing the other.
Occasionally their eyes would meet in the air, only to quickly look away, as if whoever admitted to those feelings first would lose.
That fig leaf called "friendship"—neither had the courage to tear it away.
This evening after work, Monica walked out of the office building. The evening breeze carried winter's bleakness, making her neck feel cold.
The shops along the street had already hung up colorful lights and Christmas wreaths, the air filled with the sweet scent of the holidays.
Her phone vibrated then, the screen showing that familiar name.
The corners of Monica's lips curved up involuntarily as she swiped to answer.
"Off work?" The man's deep, magnetic voice came through the line, carrying a hint of relaxed warmth.
"Yeah, just got out."
"What do you want to eat tomorrow?"
Monica paused, then realized—tomorrow was Christmas.
Looking at the chubby Santa Claus in the shop window, she suddenly felt playful, her tone taking on a mischievous lilt: "I want roast turkey, and pudding too."
Silence on the other end for two seconds, then Shane's light scoff: "Pretty demanding, aren't you?"
"Forget it if you can't manage it," she said deliberately.
"Who says I can't?" The man seemed to have his competitive spirit sparked, his tone carrying a determined confidence. "Just wait."
Two simple words, yet carrying a reassuring certainty.
Monica's mood instantly brightened. She smiled, chatting with him about this and that until she reached her apartment building.
"I'll hang up now, I'm home," she said cheerfully, her voice light as if holding a piece of candy.
"Mm."
Just as she was about to hang up, a hand suddenly reached from behind, pressing heavily on her shoulder.
Monica's heart jumped. Before she could turn around, she was roughly spun around by brute force, forced to face a face twisted with anger.
It was Derek.
He stared at her intently, his eyes behind the lenses burning with cold fury. Almost through gritted teeth, he demanded word by word: "Monica, what the hell did you do to your mother?!"
That hypocritical, refined mask was completely torn away, leaving only ugliness and rage.
The call hadn't ended yet. Shane's voice came through the receiver, carrying a note of alertness: "What's wrong?"
Before Monica could answer, Derek had already seen her still-lit phone screen, the malice in his eyes intensifying.
He snatched the phone and smashed it hard on the ground. The call cut off instantly.
Monica felt for her phone in her pocket.
"Your mom suddenly changed her mind, said she won't let you marry me anymore." Derek stepped closer, the heavy smell of alcohol washing over her, making her nauseous. "You fucking playing me?"
Monica understood immediately.
Shane had solved her mother's problem, but had also completely enraged Derek, this mad dog.
She suppressed the disgust and panic in her heart, her rationality instantly returning.
Her instinct as a lawyer made her quickly calm down. She stepped back, creating a safe distance, her gaze cold as she met his: "Mr. Morrison, there's no law in this country that says a mother needs to explain to an outsider when she changes her mind. Whatever agreement you had with them is your business, but you have no right to interfere with my or my mother's decisions."
"Decisions?" Derek laughed bitterly, his laughter full of menace. "I spent so much effort helping your family fill that hole, and now you think you can brush me off with 'don't want to marry anymore'? Monica, you really think Derek is someone you can mess with?"
His patience completely exhausted, those bloodshot eyes locked onto her, naked desire and cruelty intertwined, no longer concealed.
"Since you won't be my wife nicely, then I'll take you tonight and show you what happens when you cross me!"
The moment the words fell, he lunged at her.