Chapter 8
Chapter 8:
Startled by Cristian’s bold remark, Fernanda shot him a sharp glare. In an icy tone, she said, “Sir, I’d prefer if you chose your words carefully and let go of me.”
Meeting her stern gaze, Cristian released her arm.
“Apologies,” he murmured, then opened the car door for her.
Fernanda’s eyes lingered on the groaning figures sprawled on the ground. With a sharp edge to her voice, she asked, “What about them?”
“They’ll be taken care of soon,” Cristian assured her as he started the engine.
As they left the dimly lit street and merged into the bright flow of the main road, the streetlights cast a gentle glow on Fernanda’s refined features through the windshield.
“You seem to have quite a few enemies,” Fernanda noted, her voice tinged with indifference as she stared ahead.
“Indeed,” Cristian admitted, knowing she was alluding to their first encounter. His tone softened as he added, “It seems trouble always finds me when you’re around. Don’t you think that’s a bit fateful?”
“I would gladly avoid such fate,” Fernanda replied curtly, turning her gaze to the lively city outside. “Honestly, I’d rather not be involved with you in any way.”
A flicker of amusement passed through Cristian’s eyes as he raised a brow. “Are you always this blunt and cold?” he asked, clearly intrigued.
“This does not concern you.”
Cristian’s jaw tightened briefly before a resigned smile flickered across his face and he shook his head, dismissing the moment. Fernanda always seemed as guarded as a hedgehog, her defenses rising at the slightest provocation.
About ten minutes later, they arrived at a small eatery. In stark contrast to Esaham’s dazzling city lights, the restaurant’s humble charm stood out, its weathered red sign dim beside the neon glow of surrounding venues.
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With a courteous gesture, Cristian held the door open, letting Fernanda enter first.
The interior was compact but immaculately kept. A middle-aged woman, busy wiping down a table, looked up, her face lighting up with a warm smile as she spotted them.
“Mr. Reed! It’s been far too long,” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with joy. “Have you been too busy to visit us lately? You haven’t been around in quite a while.”
“I’ve been tied up with some matters out of town,” Cristian replied smoothly.
He handed a menu to Fernanda. “The owners are from Zhota, and they bring an authentic taste of home to their kitchen.”
The woman’s smile brightened at Cristian’s words. With a playful twinkle in her eye, she asked, “Is this lovely young lady also from Zhota, perhaps?”
Cristian gave a small, confirming nod.
The woman let out a gentle laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Zhota really does have a way of producing remarkable people. And just look at this beautiful young woman. Mr. Reed, congratulations are in order, I believe. It seems you’ve finally found what you’ve been looking for.”
Fernanda froze, her fingers motionless on the menu, her gaze slowly shifting to Cristian with a hint of confusion.
What did the woman mean by that?
“She isn’t,” Cristian quickly corrected, noticing Fernanda’s confusion.
The woman immediately covered her mouth, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry! It’s just that you’ve never brought a woman here before, so I made an assumption… My apologies.”
“It’s all right,” Cristian replied with a dismissive wave, then ordered the dishes Fernanda had mentioned. He decided to add a dessert soup as well.
Fernanda leaned back, her expression composed but curious, watching Cristian intently.
He caught her gaze and murmured, “What’s on your mind?”
“You seem every bit the Esaham native. But from the way you spoke to the owner, it sounds like you’re quite familiar with Zhota.”
Cristian replied, his tone thoughtful, “I lived there for several years during my childhood. To me, it feels more like home than Esaham ever did—it’s where some of my warmest memories are.”
“That’s surprising,” Fernanda remarked softly, her voice low as she took a delicate sip of her lemonade. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were someone for nostalgia.”
Cristian leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Have you ever heard of a little place near Zhota called Greenwillow?”
Fernanda’s hand froze mid-motion, her eyes sharpening as a flicker of recognition sparked within them.
Greenwillow was her childhood village, a place she had left behind when she moved to Zhota—a quiet, unremarkable spot that few knew. How on earth did he know about it?
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