002 Stray Cat

“Yes, Mr. Moore,” The driver pushes his thin glasses up with two fingers, answering with a flat, swift tone, “That’s Catherine Quinn, her father is Quinn Corp’s former director. The one that died in the car crash this month.”

“So that’s the famous Queen C?” Damian Moore curves his lips slightly. His posture relaxed, all but those sharp eyes. They are nailing on the girl, like a predator spotting the perfect prey.

“Hero in the hour of need is good timing for making an acquaintance,” The driver observes his boss’s look carefully.

“Acquaintance?” With a smirk, Damian mumbles, narrowing his eyes dangerously, “How about take into possession?”

“Sir?!” The driver raises his eyebrows in shock. Even when facing an odd order like pulling over in the middle of nowhere, the driver maintained his straight face.

Damian meets the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. An evil smirk crawls onto his face.

“The old man says he wants a daughter-in-law, then he threw Ava out of his house because she is illegitimate.” Damian’s indifferent voice raises, “So how about the city princess from an old money?”

A broke, old money.

The driver lowers his eyes tamely. Doesn’t sound like his boss is taking home a daughter-in-law for his old man, more like, a heart attack trigger.

The roar of the storm tunes down suddenly around Catherine. She frowns in confusion, the water on her raven eyelashes shiver with her.

“A delicate flower like you is to be spoiled with the summer breeze, not a storm.”

Catherine raises her head at the luring bass, only to freeze when she sees the man holding an umbrella over her head.

No matter what happens between them in the years to come, she never forgets his image at this moment.

Handsome and elegant, separating her from the cold rain, like her very own guardian angel...

***

Catherine never thought she would go home with some random guy for just one lousy pickup line.

Well, he is no random man.

He is Damian Moore, heir of the entire Empire. Compared to his title, his home comes off as the more ordinary. A simple penthouse in the city center. Double floor, rooftop pool, minimalist style. Not too different from any other.

But, still.

Damian turned on the central air conditioning first thing when they arrived. Heating mode, in the middle of summer.

Catherine hugs herself, feeling her limbs waking up slowly to warmth. She paces to the glass door that opens to the big, deep, blue pool, looking out. The usually calm and clear water is now boiling under the storm. Only she knows it’s not hot, but icy cold. Just like her mood--

Of all the men in the villa area, HE has to be the one who found her at her lowest moment. He doesn’t even remember her. Why would he?

Is this fate...Or just bad luck?

“No swimming during a thunderstorm,” Damian’s voice snaps her out of her wondering mind.

His masculine aura surrounds her, “Be a good girl, drink this before a warm shower.”

In his hand is a glass of milk. Steaming hot.

“Thanks,” Catherine says so, but she is not putting anything in her mouth.

Curving his lips, the man leans closer with his cheatingly luring voice: “If I want a woman, there are easier ways than drugging her.”

Decent meaning, only with too much arrogancy.

Catherine’s ear tips burn red.

“I don’t like milk, that’s all,” She lowers her head. Cupping her frozen hands around the glass is helping a lot though.

“I see... Should I get you some powered milk instead?” The man notices her slightly dodging keenly, his fingertips grazing her skin as if not intentionally, “...in a bowl, maybe?”

Catherine frowns. How does the man make a simple lactose intolerance sound like she’s a picky cat he rescued from the street?!

Damian lets out a light laugh.

“Give me,”

Catherine looks up in shock. Is he upset? Because she won’t drink the milk the exalted Mr. Moore heated up for her himself?

The man kneels down on one knee in front of her, patting his knee as he repeats: “Give me your foot.”

Only then does Catherine finally remember the throbbing pain in her ankle. She looks down, only to see a swollen bump making her foot look horrifying.

“It’s okay, I’m fine--”

Before Catherine could refuse, the man grabbed her shin and put her foot on his knee. She falls backward and lands on the luxury sofa she has been trying to avoid getting mud on. Now the mud is mixed with milk, too.

Well, his sofa, and his right to ruin it.

“A bad twist is not fine,” The man throws her a scolding glare, “But luckily you didn’t hurt the bone.”

It’s the first time he puts on a mean tone tonight. For her own good.