She Won't Forgive - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading She Won't Forgive, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of She Won't Forgive.
Noel was ready to lash out, but the words froze on his tongue the moment he saw the girl's unfamiliar face.
"Can I help you, sir?" asked the round-faced girl, blinking at him in confusion.
Noel shook his head. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else."
The girl left with the rest of the ensemble.
Noel stepped out of the restaurant, lit a cigarette, and let out a cold laugh as he thought back to Carl's confident claims.
He pondered, 'I knew it. That whole thing was just some setup between Carl and Camila. Carl's always been soft on her because of Grandma. It wouldn't take much for her to bribe him into running some little stunt.
'I can't believe I actually bought that load of crap from that money-grubbing idiot Carl. Ridiculous.'
His assistant pulled up with the car. Noel opened the door and climbed in just as Camila emerged from the restaurant, violin in tow.
After the performance, the restaurant manager had pulled her aside backstage—first to settle the payment, then to talk about a longer-term gig.
She'd agreed to the ongoing collaboration but insisted on market rates. It was simple—she just wanted to play her violin, not serve drinks or be anyone's entertainment.
The manager agreed, and they signed a contract. In fact, because she played so well, the manager offered her more than the usual going rate.
Then she ordered a rideshare but waited for several minutes with no one accepting the request. Just then, it started to rain. She quickly shielded her violin and took shelter under a nearby bus stop.
It was the rainy season. Showers started without warning, leaving Camila no chance to stay dry—her hair was soon drenched.
But then, a sleek white G-Wagon rolled to a gentle stop beside her. "Ms. Bateman. What a coincidence." The voice from inside the car was calm and steady, yet it carried a certain clear, pleasing quality.
Hearing the voice, Camila turned to look and met the driver's gaze. As the window lowered, it revealed a flawlessly chiseled face.
He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses today—maybe because he'd been driving, or maybe for some other reason—but from where she stood, the light caught the lenses just enough to obscure the look in his eyes. Still, she could feel it. He was studying her closely.
She blinked, caught off guard for a second, then let out a soft laugh. "What a coincidence indeed, Mr. Hemming."
It was Johnathon. He stepped out of the car, his athletic legs wrapped in tailored black slacks, every line of his frame poised and polished. He held a black umbrella, its slender handle emphasizing the elegance of his fingers.
He stood under the umbrella, eyes steady and brooding, cutting through the rain like they saw right through her.
And Camila's heart gave a small, unexpected jolt. She glanced down at her rain-soaked, disheveled self, then gave a self-conscious laugh. "I must look like a mess. Seems like every time we meet, I'm in shambles."
In contrast, Johnathon—dressed as always in his simple white shirt and black slacks—stood out effortlessly.
His calm gaze rested on her for a brief, polite moment. "Not at all." Then he asked, "Where to? I'll give you a ride."
Camila checked her phone—still no rides available. She pressed her lips together, a bit hesitant. "Would that be too much trouble?" If there was one thing she hated, it was putting others out.
"No trouble at all. It's on my way," he replied.
She smiled, "But I haven't even told you where I live."
"Then by all means, Ms. Bateman, go ahead and tell me," Johnathon said smoothly.
Camila was far from careless—if anything, she was overly cautious. Giving out her address was something she never did lightly.
But something about the way he looked at her—calm, steady, and quietly reassuring—made her feel like she could trust him. She then gave him the name of her apartment complex.
"Still on my way," Johnathon said in that same even tone. He walked around and opened the passenger door for her. "Hop in. I'll drive you home."
It was late. The subways and buses had stopped running, and her app still wasn't picking up any rides. Camila hesitated for a moment, then stepped toward the car. Just as she was about to get in, she paused again.
Johnathon seemed to catch her hesitation. His striking eyes sparkled as he smiled, "Relax. I don't have a girlfriend."
Camila lowered her gaze, a little flustered. The truth was, she had been worried. If he had a girlfriend, sitting up front might've seemed too intimate. But she hadn't expected him to read her mind so easily.
She was soaked. Her clothes and hair were all damp, clinging to her skin. The car's AC was on, and the chill hit her the moment she sat down. She gave a small involuntary shiver.
Johnathon glanced at her and said, "Hold on a sec." He got out, walked to the trunk, and returned quickly with a fluffy white towel. He handed it to her. "Here. Dry off, or you'll catch a cold."
Camila shook her head. "It's okay. I'm fine, really."
"We see over five hundred cold and flu patients a day at our hospital," he said.
She froze for a second and then took the towel. "Thank you."
"No need," he replied with a faint smile.
As the car started moving, Johnathon quietly reached over and adjusted the AC, turning the temperature up just enough to take the chill out of the air.
Camila noticed. Her heart warmed at the small, thoughtful gesture. It was always the little things that meant the most.
To ease the awkward silence, Camila grasped at the first thing that came to mind. "Mr. Hemming, are you a doctor?"
"Sort of," Johnathon replied.
"Sort of?" She looked puzzled.
"I focus more on medical research. I'm not in clinics much."
"So you save lives and study diseases? That's seriously impressive."
Johnathon kept his eyes on the road, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're too kind."
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the violin resting on her lap. "You play the violin, Ms. Bateman?"
Camila nodded. "Yeah. I perform at a restaurant now—it's my current gig."
"That restaurant from earlier?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'd love to catch a performance sometime."
Soon, the car rolled to a stop at the entrance to her complex. Camila thanked him sincerely and was just about to push the door open when Johnathon's voice stopped her. "Wait a sec."
She paused. He then handed her the umbrella. "A violin like that doesn't come cheap. It'd be a shame if it got water-damaged."
Camila was struck by how thoughtful he was. She took it, feeling a little embarrassed. "I really don't know how to thank you."
Johnathon thought for a moment, then replied, "Then how about treating me to a meal sometime?"
Camila nodded. "Sure, I'd be happy to."
"Alright then. Head on in. Wind's picking up—be careful out there," he said.
She stepped out, gave him a wave, and walked toward the complex.
Johnathon watched her until her figure disappeared from view. After a moment, he started the car and drove away.
"Can I help you, sir?" asked the round-faced girl, blinking at him in confusion.
Noel shook his head. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else."
The girl left with the rest of the ensemble.
Noel stepped out of the restaurant, lit a cigarette, and let out a cold laugh as he thought back to Carl's confident claims.
He pondered, 'I knew it. That whole thing was just some setup between Carl and Camila. Carl's always been soft on her because of Grandma. It wouldn't take much for her to bribe him into running some little stunt.
'I can't believe I actually bought that load of crap from that money-grubbing idiot Carl. Ridiculous.'
His assistant pulled up with the car. Noel opened the door and climbed in just as Camila emerged from the restaurant, violin in tow.
After the performance, the restaurant manager had pulled her aside backstage—first to settle the payment, then to talk about a longer-term gig.
She'd agreed to the ongoing collaboration but insisted on market rates. It was simple—she just wanted to play her violin, not serve drinks or be anyone's entertainment.
The manager agreed, and they signed a contract. In fact, because she played so well, the manager offered her more than the usual going rate.
Then she ordered a rideshare but waited for several minutes with no one accepting the request. Just then, it started to rain. She quickly shielded her violin and took shelter under a nearby bus stop.
It was the rainy season. Showers started without warning, leaving Camila no chance to stay dry—her hair was soon drenched.
But then, a sleek white G-Wagon rolled to a gentle stop beside her. "Ms. Bateman. What a coincidence." The voice from inside the car was calm and steady, yet it carried a certain clear, pleasing quality.
Hearing the voice, Camila turned to look and met the driver's gaze. As the window lowered, it revealed a flawlessly chiseled face.
He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses today—maybe because he'd been driving, or maybe for some other reason—but from where she stood, the light caught the lenses just enough to obscure the look in his eyes. Still, she could feel it. He was studying her closely.
She blinked, caught off guard for a second, then let out a soft laugh. "What a coincidence indeed, Mr. Hemming."
It was Johnathon. He stepped out of the car, his athletic legs wrapped in tailored black slacks, every line of his frame poised and polished. He held a black umbrella, its slender handle emphasizing the elegance of his fingers.
He stood under the umbrella, eyes steady and brooding, cutting through the rain like they saw right through her.
And Camila's heart gave a small, unexpected jolt. She glanced down at her rain-soaked, disheveled self, then gave a self-conscious laugh. "I must look like a mess. Seems like every time we meet, I'm in shambles."
In contrast, Johnathon—dressed as always in his simple white shirt and black slacks—stood out effortlessly.
His calm gaze rested on her for a brief, polite moment. "Not at all." Then he asked, "Where to? I'll give you a ride."
Camila checked her phone—still no rides available. She pressed her lips together, a bit hesitant. "Would that be too much trouble?" If there was one thing she hated, it was putting others out.
"No trouble at all. It's on my way," he replied.
She smiled, "But I haven't even told you where I live."
"Then by all means, Ms. Bateman, go ahead and tell me," Johnathon said smoothly.
Camila was far from careless—if anything, she was overly cautious. Giving out her address was something she never did lightly.
But something about the way he looked at her—calm, steady, and quietly reassuring—made her feel like she could trust him. She then gave him the name of her apartment complex.
"Still on my way," Johnathon said in that same even tone. He walked around and opened the passenger door for her. "Hop in. I'll drive you home."
It was late. The subways and buses had stopped running, and her app still wasn't picking up any rides. Camila hesitated for a moment, then stepped toward the car. Just as she was about to get in, she paused again.
Johnathon seemed to catch her hesitation. His striking eyes sparkled as he smiled, "Relax. I don't have a girlfriend."
Camila lowered her gaze, a little flustered. The truth was, she had been worried. If he had a girlfriend, sitting up front might've seemed too intimate. But she hadn't expected him to read her mind so easily.
She was soaked. Her clothes and hair were all damp, clinging to her skin. The car's AC was on, and the chill hit her the moment she sat down. She gave a small involuntary shiver.
Johnathon glanced at her and said, "Hold on a sec." He got out, walked to the trunk, and returned quickly with a fluffy white towel. He handed it to her. "Here. Dry off, or you'll catch a cold."
Camila shook her head. "It's okay. I'm fine, really."
"We see over five hundred cold and flu patients a day at our hospital," he said.
She froze for a second and then took the towel. "Thank you."
"No need," he replied with a faint smile.
As the car started moving, Johnathon quietly reached over and adjusted the AC, turning the temperature up just enough to take the chill out of the air.
Camila noticed. Her heart warmed at the small, thoughtful gesture. It was always the little things that meant the most.
To ease the awkward silence, Camila grasped at the first thing that came to mind. "Mr. Hemming, are you a doctor?"
"Sort of," Johnathon replied.
"Sort of?" She looked puzzled.
"I focus more on medical research. I'm not in clinics much."
"So you save lives and study diseases? That's seriously impressive."
Johnathon kept his eyes on the road, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're too kind."
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the violin resting on her lap. "You play the violin, Ms. Bateman?"
Camila nodded. "Yeah. I perform at a restaurant now—it's my current gig."
"That restaurant from earlier?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'd love to catch a performance sometime."
Soon, the car rolled to a stop at the entrance to her complex. Camila thanked him sincerely and was just about to push the door open when Johnathon's voice stopped her. "Wait a sec."
She paused. He then handed her the umbrella. "A violin like that doesn't come cheap. It'd be a shame if it got water-damaged."
Camila was struck by how thoughtful he was. She took it, feeling a little embarrassed. "I really don't know how to thank you."
Johnathon thought for a moment, then replied, "Then how about treating me to a meal sometime?"
Camila nodded. "Sure, I'd be happy to."
"Alright then. Head on in. Wind's picking up—be careful out there," he said.
She stepped out, gave him a wave, and walked toward the complex.
Johnathon watched her until her figure disappeared from view. After a moment, he started the car and drove away.
End of She Won't Forgive Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to She Won't Forgive book page.