09
Ava turns her head and sees Lincoln. She suddenly sits up straight, tucks her hair behind her ears, and waves shyly, "Hi."
Lincoln recognizes her and walks over with a smile, "Company team building?"
"Yes," Ava answers, "What about you? Here alone?"
I sit next to her, holding my wine glass and pretending not to see him.
"Yeah, I just finished some overtime and came to relax."
Ava gets excited, "It's lively here. Why don't you join us?"
No. No. I chant silently.
"Sure." Lincoln smiles and sits on the empty sofa next to me, "I just moved to the design district, and haven't properly visited everyone. Just let me buy everyone a drink to apologize."
"Mr. Lincoln, you're too sweet."
Lincoln glances at my glass, "How about some red wine?"
"Anything is fine." Our colleagues enthusiastically agree.
I can't take it anymore and stand up, "I'll go to the restroom."
Actually, everyone was already half-drunk before Lincoln showed up. If I slip out the back door now, no one will notice.
"Why are you taking your bag to the restroom? Don't worry, I'll keep it safe for you." Ava suddenly grabs my bag's strap.
A dozen eyes turn to us simultaneously. I stiffen, force a smile, and say, "Thank you."
Now I really do go to the restroom. I wash my hands repeatedly, dry them with the hand dryer, and then walk out.
I run into Lincoln.
"I'm sorry," he suddenly says.
I ignore him and keep walking.
He grabs my wrist.
I turn to look at him, and he immediately lets go. "Sorry, but please let me finish."
"We have nothing to say to each other," I respond.
"That day I was too impulsive. I shouldn't have kissed you without your permission." He pauses, "I know you're with my brother because of your difficulties, right? I found out about your family situation, your mother's illness, and your situation at your uncle's house... I'm really sorry."
"If you're done, I'm leaving now." I take a step forward.
But then—
"Ali, you know him?" A tipsy Vivian suddenly appears at the end of the hallway.
"Yes."
"No."
Lincoln and I speak at the same time.
"No."
"Yes."
We speak simultaneously again.
My temples throb.
Vivian squints, looking between Lincoln and me, her voice becoming gossipy, "What's your relationship?"
"She's my—"
"I'm his sister-in-law," I quickly answer.
"Sister-in-law?" Vivian looks stunned.
"Yes, I'm married to his brother," I say.
Vivian leans closer to me, "Then you must be that—"
I awkwardly nod. It's hard to keep secrets these days. The Daniels family is always in the financial and entertainment media. Although I've never appeared in public, there are plenty of rumors about my unhappy marriage with Mateo.
"Please don't tell anyone I work here," I plead.
Vivian nods repeatedly, "Got it."
She then goes into the restroom.
I say goodbye to Lincoln with a fake smile and then bid farewell to my colleagues.
I now take the bus to and from work because it's cheaper than driving. As I walk to the bus stop, a silver Bentley pulls up. The window rolls down, revealing Lincoln's face.
I look at the bus stop screen; the next bus is ten minutes away.
"It's late. Let me drive you home," Lincoln says, his tone steady and firm, as if he won't leave until I get in the car.
Not wanting to argue with him, I flag down a taxi and get in the back seat.
On the way back to the old mansion, I watch the taxi meter climb, and my chest hurts. I'm saving money, even bringing breakfast from home for lunch at the studio. Because of Lincoln, my dream of a small nest egg is now further away.
The next day is Sunday. I wake up, go downstairs for breakfast, and pack more food.
Mateo didn't come home last night. He might have slept at the office or with his mistress, Luna. It's none of my business.
Work is busy today. As soon as I arrive at the studio, Vivian tells me some new students want to learn fashion design and asks me to take care of them.
She looks at me with the same expression as usual, and so do my colleagues. I let out a sigh of relief, smile, and say, "I'll head over now."
Then, I stay busy until eight in the evening.
It's already spring, but the night is still chilly. I button the top button of my shirt and stand in the cold waiting for the bus.
I didn't expect that in our modern society, with all its surveillance cameras and busy streets, someone would try to rob me.
A middle-aged man, reeking of alcohol with filthy, matted hair, suddenly appears in front of me, brandishing a silver knife at my collar. "Hey, pretty, I'm hungry. Give me some money."
I'm in the middle of helping a student improve her portfolio, brainstorming ideas. His sudden interruption leaves me stunned.
The man's knife presses against my neck as he drunkenly yells, "Money! Now!"
Terrified, my hand stiffens as I fumble inside my bag.
Just the next moment, Lincoln's large hand appears behind the man. He grabs the knife handle, twisting it out of the man's grasp, and with his other hand, he seizes the man's loose collar, dragging him backward. The muscles and veins on Lincoln's forearm bulge as he pulls up his sleeve.
He drags the man into a nearby alley behind the bus stop.
I stand frozen in place as the 12 bus I need pulls up and the doors open. The driver notices I'm not getting on and drives away.
The sound of the exhaust snaps me back to reality.
I quickly run toward the alley. The next second, Lincoln walks out, unharmed. I glance into the alley and see the man who tried to rob me lying motionless.
"Do you have wet wipes?" Lincoln asks.
I hurriedly pull some from my bag and hand them to him.
Lincoln wipes his hands, and the wet wipes turn bloody.
"Are you hurt?" I ask, eyes wide.
"It's not my blood," he says calmly, as if he hadn't just fought someone.
"Is he dead?" I look back into the alley.
"Still alive."
I feel a sudden rush of conflicting emotions. "This is a busy intersection, with cameras everywhere. You could get into trouble."
"What should I have done? Watch him hold a knife to your neck and let him go?"
"You—we could have called the police."
"No, I couldn't stand by."
As it turns out, I was right. The next day, Lincoln Daniels's name appears on various websites. This time, it's not about family inheritance disputes; he's on the social news section.
Someone uploaded the surveillance footage of him subduing the knife-wielding robber. The video doesn't contain any violent or bloody scenes, just Lincoln walking out of the alley. About half an hour later, the robber also stumbles out, his face covered in blood.
There's no direct evidence that Lincoln was the one who hurt him.
The story quickly goes viral, and the police soon identify the robber as an undocumented immigrant.
Lincoln's actions are suddenly hailed as heroic.
I watch this unfold on my phone in the old mansion. Not many people discuss my identity. I was wearing a baseball cap yesterday, so my face isn't clear in the video.
But Mateo notices.
The butler informs me respectfully that Mr. Mateo will be back in an hour.
When the gate opens, two cars drive into the garden, one of them a silver Bentley.
Lincoln follows Mateo inside, and the servants tactfully leave the scene.
"You're quite the protector, huh?" Mateo says harshly, ripping off his tie.
I swallow nervously.
To be honest, I don't understand why Mateo is angry. This time, the Daniels family news isn't a scandal.
Lincoln smiles, "Brother, I thought you wanted to reconnect after our dad passed away, inviting me back to the mansion for old times' sake."
I sit on the sofa, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible.
Lincoln continues, "As a husband, you weren't there when your wife was in danger, and now you're mad because I helped her? Are you hoping she'd die since you couldn't finalize the divorce?"
Mateo turns his gaze to me.
I haven't seen Mateo in almost a month, and he seems somewhat unfamiliar.
"And you—are you broke? Why are you working as an art assistant?"
"I..."
Lincoln cuts in, "If you cared about your wife even a little, you wouldn't ask that. She doesn't have dad, with only a sick mother to care for. Do you think she has any say there at her uncle's?"
Mateo frowns, about to speak, but his phone rings.
"Hello? Okay, I'm coming right away."
Mateo, like a whirlwind, is out of the house in ten minutes.