Chapter 5

TRAVIS

I had been stuck on the road for nearly an hour because of heavy traffic. There had been an accident up ahead, and the authorities were still clearing out the vehicles.

My patience was already running thin, and I had lost count of how many times I cursed in irritation.

Zarina Jones was waiting for me at the hotel. She was my flavor of the month—a famous actress known for starring in wholesome movies and dramas.

In reality, her behavior was the complete opposite. She was wild in bed, which was why, even after two weeks of flirting, I hadn’t ended things with her yet.

Zarina was my distraction from the woman who had been haunting my thoughts for days. The woman's face in the bakeshop stuck with me like glue, and damn! I totally hate it!

To cool my frustration, I rolled down my car window and lit a cigarette.

A slight tug on my arm startled me just as I began to relax. It was the street children, begging for money to eat.

“Mister, could you spare some coins? We just need money for food,” the kid said.

I frowned at the request. I never gave money to beggars. Supporting them felt like encouraging laziness. They were a shame to our country, Olivara and the city of Oakdale.

"Go away. I don't have money," I said irritably, waving my hand dismissively as if swatting a fly.

“You have a fancy car. That’s hard to believe,” the kid replied with surprising boldness.

“You’re really pushing your luck!” I snapped, about to send them off with harsher words when someone across the street caught my eye.

It was her—the woman from the bakeshop. She was carrying a grocery bag and seemed to be waiting for a bus.

She looked absolutely divine in her floral dress that hugged her upper body and layered with a light blue cardigan. Her hair was tied in a half-ponytail and hung down to her waist. Even from this distance, her natural rosy lips and cheeks stood out.

"You know what, that beautiful lady gave us money, but you, who look much wealthier, won't," the kid said again, noticing where my attention had shifted.

“Shut up!" I hissed at him.

“Do you know she gives us money every time she passes by here?”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“You should do the same.”

I was about to yell at the kid when I realized the woman was now looking in our direction. Her gaze seemed disapproving, probably at the way I was frowning at the kids.

I shouldn’t care what she thought of me. Her opinion shouldn’t matter. And yet, I found myself pulling out some bills from my wallet—an amount I didn’t even bother counting—and handing them to the kids.

“Be good, okay? Enjoy your food!” I said in a tone that felt uncharacteristically kind. I wanted to punch myself for acting this way.

This wasn’t me. I didn’t care what others thought of me. So why was I suddenly concerned about making a good first impression on her?

“Thank you, Uncle!” the kids chorused, running off excitedly while arguing over how to split the money.

I exhaled heavily while watching them cross the street. It was unbelievable that I showed them kindness. When did I become a saint?

“Get a grip, Holy Travis,” I muttered sarcastically, taking another puff from my cigarette.

I clenched my jaw, trying to resist the urge to glance at the woman's direction.

But my resolve crumbled, I followed what my heart dictated to me. I glanced her way.

Whoa! Wait. Did I just think about my heart dictating something? When did I start using those words?

What the hell was happening to me? Why was I acting this way over a woman whose name I didn’t even know?

I forced myself to focus on smoking, hoping it would keep me distracted. But it was useless. The urge to glance at her was too strong.

When I looked at her again, I noticed that two men had approached her. She moved away, but they followed. They eventually grabbed her arm and pulled her into a dark alley.

Didn’t she know how dangerous this area was, especially for someone as strikingly beautiful as her?

This street was notorious for being a gangster haven. Graffiti covering every wall and danger lurking every corner.

“Damn it!” I cursed under my breath while stepping out of my car.

I should have stayed out of this trouble. But I couldn’t let stand the thought of her being harassed by those gangsters. So, I crossed the street, knowing full well the risks.

The men might have weapons that could jeopardize my safety. Normally, I wouldn’t risk and play the hero. I doubt if I would even bother calling the police. But this woman—the pastry lady, as I now called her—made me do the unthinkable.

She was no longer in sight as I reached the dark alley. But I heard the sounds of a struggle echoing from a few meters away. Following the noise, I turned at the left corner and froze in shock.

The pastry lady was throwing the two men around like they were rag dolls. How could someone so petite manage that? She was clearly trained in martial arts.

“You bitch!” one of the men yelled, charging at her.

Her gaze flicked to me for a split second, breaking her focus. That momentary distraction caused the man to close the distance between them.

Before he could punch her, I lunged forward and grabbed his hand. With what I did, he turned on me instead. He landed a heavy blow near my jaw that sent me flying into a trash can.

I winced in pain as the hard metal hit my head. My vision became blurry, and I struggled to get back on my feet.

Feeling weak, I just watched the man pick up a knife from the ground and advance toward me.

He was about to stab me when the pastry lady struck him on the head with a piece of wood. It caused him to collapse on the floor, unconscious.

"A- Are you okay?" She asked, rushing to my side.

“I’m fine,” I replied, trying to stand despite the throbbing pain as I didn’t want her to think I was weak.

"No, you are not—" her words hung in the air as she looked at me, horrified.“You’re bleeding!”

Only then did I notice the blood dripping from my nose.

“This is nothing,” I said dismissively.

“Come on,” she insisted. “My bakeshop is nearby. Let’s treat your wound. We need to leave before those men wake up.”

Secretly, a smile appeared on my lips as I allowed her to drag me out of the alley. This might have been the start of something—the process through which we got to know each other. I didn’t even care about leaving my car behind. I could call my assistant to retrieve it later.