Shadows of revenge

Chapter Four

"What? Doctor Hopkins, you must be mistaken! I just made the down p*****t this morning," she recalled arguing with the doctor that evening. She stood up from her bed and sauntered to the fridge to get a bottle of water. Obviously, someone had paid for her mother's treatment and hospital bill, but the identity of the person remained unknown. She hoped that one day she would meet the good Samaritan who had helped save her mother's life.

As she strolled back to her bed, she heard the doorbell ring. Checking the time, she noted it was just seven in the evening. It was a reasonable time for someone to call, but she had only one friend who was out of town on a trip and not returning anytime soon. So whoever was at the door was not someone she was acquainted with. She walked to the door and opened it. The man standing outside was not anyone she expected to see, not this time, not this way. She regarded him with wary eyes; if he had come for something, she was not sure it would be good.

"Hello, Max."

"Hey, Cindy," he answered, smiling.

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Max decided to pay his "prey" a visit. He had to make his offer to her, and he couldn't do that by sitting in his office. He wanted to see the kind of life she lived after ruining his family's happiness. "Aren't you going to let me come in?" he asked as she stood firmly at the door, as if he were a stranger who wasn't supposed to enter. Thinking about it, he realized he actually was a stranger.

"Of course! You can come in," she said, stepping aside to let him in. Then she hurriedly removed some items from her sofa, her things scattered throughout. He entered and stood by the door watching her; when she finally turned back and saw him watching, her face flushed with shame. "Please, sit," she offered.

"It's quite a home you have here," he said, prompting her to say more about her life. Instead, she felt even more embarrassed.

"Yeah, it's quite small. But it's my home anyway. Coffee?" she asked.

"Yeah. Black."

"Alright. I'll be back. Just make yourself at home," she said before walking to the kitchen.

He spotted a bookshelf and walked over to it. He looked through her books and found some novels but mostly inspirational titles. From the shelf, it was clear she led a reclusive life. She had never been like that; she had always been the jovial, outgoing type and even had a penchant for flashy things during her teenage years. He had been so entranced by the redhead who lived across the street—the way she walked down the street, how she swung her hips as she moved, and how her hair shone in the early morning sunlight while perspiration kissed her cheeks. He had been totally smitten by her.

When his brother came home one day and announced he had a girlfriend, Max was excited until he heard it was the redhead across the street—Cindy. He could remember how painful it felt to hear her name come from his brother's mouth. But he knew he had to forget about her for his brother's sake. Aiden, his brother, had never had a girlfriend; he was shy and couldn't approach girls. But this particular redhead had caught his attention completely, and he decided to talk to her. Somehow they became friends, and in three months, they were a couple. Max felt cheated but also recognized that he had been too slow. Maybe if he had approached her first, Aiden would not have died the way he did; it would have been him lying in the grave right now. He missed his brother so much it hurt. But that was in the past, and now he no longer had a heart—just a body with no soul. And that body was going to make life miserable for the one who caused his brother's and father's deaths.

His eyes caught a frame standing on the table—it was her mother. The elderly Mrs. Bailey had been sick for a long time; she looked older than her age and had grown frail with illness. His gaze moved to the photo beside it—it was Cindy. Seeing her made his mind boil with anger. He would make her life useless and miserable; he was sure of that.

He heard footsteps coming from the kitchen and turned to see her emerge with two mugs in hand.

"Here's your coffee," she said, handing one of the mugs to him as they both settled onto opposite sides of the sofa.

"How have you been?" he started, gulping down a large amount of coffee.

"Been great. How about you? I haven't heard from you in seven years," she replied, and he felt his hands tighten around the mug. He fought to regain composure before responding.

"Been busy. With so many things," he said.

"Yeah, I heard on the news that your company was listed among the ten best in the United States. I also heard about your brother and father. I'm sorry for your loss," she said, and he felt his blood boil but nevertheless forced a smile.

"It's been seven years, and my family has gotten over it already," he said with a straight face.

"So, to what do I owe this visit?" she finally asked.

"Aren't you aware?"

She seemed thrown off by his question. "Of what, if I may ask?"

"I was the one who cleared your mother's hospital bill."

Realization hit her. "You... you... you're the one?" she stammered. "But how did you know? We've not been in contact for seven years."

"Information travels, you know. I got the information from my secretary, who happened to know you and also knew the fact that we had a history."

History? What was he talking about? Nevertheless, she felt she had to be grateful. "Oh! I'm so thankful. I will pay you back! Just give me time; I'll pay back in installments."

He watched her work herself up all for nothing. He smiled and said, "You don't have to pay me back."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. What was he saying? They were talking about almost a million dollars. Surely, she hadn't heard him properly. Who would give out that kind of money for free? She regarded him warily. "That's nonsense. Surely I'll pay you back. Just tell me how to pay you back."

"Marry me," he said without blinking an eye.