Felicia Fetrino Deborev
1645 Words
Mike rushed out of the restaurant, hoping to escape the embarrassment that still burned on his cheeks. As he reached the street, his phone buzzed repeatedly. It was Sam, bombarding him with messages:
“Mate, are you f*****g kidding me? Are you coming? She’s been waiting for 30 minutes!”
“Mike! Where the hell are you?”
“Oh, you’re really making me look bad here.”
Mike read through the texts, sighed, and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He quickly reentered the restaurant, casting a brief glance at the woman he’d mistakenly approached earlier before hurrying toward a different room. His real date was somewhere here—Sophia Turner. Panic settled in as he scanned the room.
Finally, he spotted her sitting alone in the far corner, her arms crossed, a scowl etched on her face. Mike rushed over, his breath uneven.
“Hi, are you Sophia?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly, desperate not to make the same mistake twice. “I’m so sorry, I—”
Before he could finish, Sophia flung the drink from her table straight into his face.
He froze, feeling the cold liquid and ice slide down his skin. The restaurant seemed to go silent as all eyes turned their way. For a moment, Mike’s mind went blank.
“Are you mocking me?” she spat angrily. “I’ve been waiting for 30 minutes. Is this your idea of a first date? Now I know why you don’t have a girlfriend. Look at you—just a gynecological nurse, poor, and now incredibly rude for keeping me waiting!” Her tirade continued, not allowing Mike a word in edgewise.
“I’m really sorry, but please let me—”
“Enough!” she cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m done!” Grabbing her purse, she shoved past him, slamming her shoulder into his as she stormed out. Mike stood there drenched and humiliated, surrounded by judgmental stares.
“Sophia!” he called after her weakly, but she was already gone.
Grabbing a few napkins from the table, Mike wiped his face and left the restaurant. He thought about chasing after her, but by the time he reached the parking lot, she had already vanished. Frustrated, he muttered under his breath, “Well done, Mike. You blew it again.” He cursed himself for his perpetual bad luck with women.
Deciding to call it a night, he rode his motorcycle home. But as he sped down a quiet street, something caught his eye—a red car stuck in an alley, surrounded by several thugs.
Turning back, Mike approached cautiously, yelling, “Hey!” to get their attention. The group turned to face him, along with the frightened woman who stood trapped between them and her car. It was the same woman he’d mistakenly approached in the restaurant earlier.
“Are you okay?” Mike called out, his voice raised. The woman shook her head, visibly terrified.
“Stay out of this!” one of the thugs sneered.
The men laughed as they turned toward Mike, their expressions menacing. There were five of them—two wielding long wooden planks, the rest with fists clenched like iron hammers.
“Oh look, the hero has arrived,” one jeered. “You want to take her place? Lucky for you, one of my friends here is into guys.”
Ignoring their taunts, Mike took a fighting stance. “Last warning,” he growled, fists clenched.
“You’re gonna regret this, tough guy,” one of the thugs threatened. Two of them began circling Mike, trying to flank him.
Mike was outnumbered, but his military training kicked in. The first attacker lunged at him from behind, but Mike sidestepped, grabbing the man’s arm and driving a punch into his stomach before throwing him into one of his companions.
The others rushed him, swinging wildly. Mike dodged their attacks with ease, countering with swift, precise blows that left each of them writhing on the ground.
“Watch out!” the woman screamed.
Mike turned just in time to see a knife-wielding thug lunging at him from behind. He managed to catch the blade with his bare hand, gritting his teeth as pain shot through his thumb, leaving a deep gash. With a sharp twist, he disarmed the attacker, sending the knife clattering to the ground. One final punch sent the man crumpling to the pavement.
Realizing they were outmatched, the remaining thugs scrambled to their feet and fled, leaving Mike and the woman alone in the alley.
Breathing heavily, Mike turned to her. “Are you alright?” he asked, wiping the blood from his hand.
She nodded, her eyes wide with a mix of gratitude and shock. She swallowed nervously, her gaze lingering on Mike’s bleeding hand, which looked quite serious.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice a bit shaky.
She stepped closer and gently touched Mike’s injured hand.
“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” he insisted.
But the woman’s concerned expression told him she didn’t agree with his assessment.
“Wait here. I have something in my car,” she said. She quickly ran to her vehicle, returning with a pink handkerchief. Carefully, she wrapped it around Mike’s wounded hand.
“Thank you,” Mike said sincerely.
“This is so bad… Thank you for saving my life. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come. Tell me, how can I repay you?”
“It was my duty. You don’t need to thank me. Are you alright? And your car?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
“It’s just stuck! It was my own fault for trying to drive through this narrow alley. But thank you again, Mike… wait, I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
“It’s Mike.”
“Mike, right… I remember now. You’re the gynecologist, aren’t you?” she said, recalling where she had seen him before.
Mike nodded, realizing now that this woman was none other than Felicia Fetrino Deborev, the CEO of Deborev Enterprises. The woman he initially mistook for his blind date.
“I’m really sorry about earlier,” Mike said, his voice tinged with regret, as Felicia continued to tend to his wound.
“About what?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“I thought you were my blind date. You both were wearing the same outfit, so I got confused. I assumed it was you.”
They both laughed, sharing a moment of lightheartedness. Felicia looked at Mike’s face, studying him intently. She found him surprisingly charming—kind and soft-spoken, unlike most men she’d encountered.
“Did you find her in the end?” Felicia asked.
Mike nodded slowly. “Yes, but things didn’t go as planned. She was angry because I was late… and I ended up with a bit of a ‘gift,’” he said, gesturing to the stains on his shirt that still smelled of juice.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s alright. Oh, by the way, I should get going. Do you need a ride?” Mike offered.
Felicia shook her head politely. “No, my assistant is on the way.”
As if on cue, a sleek black car pulled up behind them. Two men stepped out and approached quickly.
“Ms. Felicia, are you alright?” one of them asked, concern evident in his voice.
Felicia waved them off with a hand, then turned back to Mike. “Mike, I really want to give you something as a token of my gratitude.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a check.
“Here, write down whatever amount you need,” she offered, holding the check towards him.
Mike glanced at the two men, who seemed just as confused as he was. But he gently pushed Felicia’s hand back.
“Thank you, but I didn’t help you expecting a reward. You can keep it,” he declined politely.
“How about working for me, then? I can pay you well. You wouldn’t need to stay in your current job.”
Mike shook his head again, smiling softly. “I appreciate the offer, but I love my job. I have no intention of leaving it.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re alright. My assistant is here now, so I’ll let you go,” she said with a smile.
Mike nodded, excusing himself before heading to his beat-up motorcycle.
After he left, Felicia couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was the perfect candidate for her plan: a man who could win over her grandfather and secure her the company inheritance, without being a threat to her or the business. She knew Mike wasn’t the type to exploit her wealth—a perfect match for her scheme.
“Jack,” she said, turning to the man who had been standing behind her. “I want you to find out everything there is to know about that man. His friends, family, everything.”
Jack nodded. “May I ask his name?”
“Michael Coulthard. I believe he’s a gynecologist.”
“Understood, ma’am.”
**
Mike finally made it home after a long, chaotic night. He noticed that the living room lights were still on, which meant his mother was back. Too many things had happened; he had even forgotten to inform her that he was going out.
As he approached the front door, he turned the cold knob slowly and stepped inside. The sight that greeted him was unexpected. Three women were seated at the dining table, enjoying tea. All three turned their heads to look at him as he entered. To his shock, one of the women—blonde, with a familiar glare—stood up abruptly, her eyes widening in disbelief.
“You?”
- Writer
