Rowan
I didn't expect to see her. But there she was—composed, collected, like she'd been waiting all along. Like this meeting was part of a script only she had read.
I took the only available seat beside her. No need to make it more awkward than it already was.
The woman across from us—Mrs. Spinach, kind eyes, trembling hands—kept glancing between us, picking up on something unspoken.
She wasn't wrong.
"You know her?" she asked.
"Everyone does," I said under my breath and she muttered what sounded like, 'ahh'.
Rhea didn't even blink.
Her voice, when it came, was sharp enough to slice the air.
"She saw my post and reached out," Mrs. Spinach explained. "I told her you'd already offered to help, but she insisted. Said, 'what if he's a fraud?' and, well… here we are."
Oh.
"Well," Rhea said, not even looking at me, "he doesn't seem like a fraud now that I see him. Let's just get this over with. I've got places to be, and you deserve justice—even in a world where that's a rare thing."
Mrs. Spinach fumbled with her bag, pulling out worn papers and folded documents—years of pain squeezed into envelopes.
I'd already spoken to Mr. Francis. Paid the retainer, got the timeline—two months minimum before anything even looked like a courtroom.
But now, with Rhea here… the lines were blurring.
I watched her scan the documents, eyes sharp, jaw set.
"What's your plan?" I asked.
She didn't look up. "Better than yours."
I smirked a little. "Do you even know how the legal system works?"
That earned me a glance. Cold. Amused.
"I don't need mansplaining here, bud. I have a law degree."
Right. Of course she did.
I leaned back, let the silence take over. No point saying more—she'd made it clear where we stood.
Mrs. Spinach stayed quiet too, answering only when Rhea asked a question.
The woman's presence demanded silence.
When the documents were finally sorted and whatever internal checklist Rhea had was satisfied, she turned to me.
"Take her email," Rhea said, not even glancing at me.
I did—no questions, no delay. Still, I couldn't help but wonder why she wouldn't just take it herself.
"We'll contact you once the process is complete," she added, turning to Mrs. Spinach. "Justice will be served."
"Thank you," Mrs. Spinach whispered, her voice trembling. She bowed her head, hands shaking. Tears welled up in her eyes. I stepped in quickly.
"No need for that," I said, gently stopping her from bowing. She didn't move. Just stood there like something had snapped inside.
And for a second, I couldn't shake the feeling that something about her was… off.
As Rhea turned to leave, Mrs. Spinach suddenly spoke up.
"Can I ask you a question, if you don't mind?"
Rhea paused. "Go ahead."
"Do you believe in karma?"
That came out of nowhere.
"I do," Mrs. Spinach answered herself.
"Whatever you do… comes back double. And for what you've done for me today—I pray it returns to you twice as much. May God bless you."
Her voice cracked, and she broke down again, bowing her head even deeper.
"You really don't need to bow," I said, awkward as ever around crying people. "May God bless you too."
Then the woman turned to leave, thanking us one last time.
The whole time, Rhea just stared. Unblinking. There was something unreadable in her eyes—like she was dissecting Mrs. Spinach's entire soul.
Then she turned to me. "You brought your car, right?"
I raised an eyebrow. "How would you know I have a car?"
She tilted her head, amused. "What's a grown-ass man doing with his life if he doesn't have one?"
"Not everyone's that privileged," I muttered. "Maybe keep that in mind before you toss stuff like that around."
She stopped walking. "Do I look like I care who's offended by the truth?" Her voice cut sharp.
"And I wasn't born privileged. I worked my way up—every step."
That shut me up. I had nothing to come back with.When we reached the car, she walked straight to the passenger door.
"I'll be riding with you. Didn't bring mine—didn't want anyone to know I was here. Drop me at the nearest hotel."
Just like that.No explanations. No softness. She opened the door and got in.I slid into the driver's seat, still wondering why secrecy mattered so much.
But I let it go.
While we drove, I reached for the stereo, hoping music might soften the tension. But with her, everything felt like walking on glass—exactly how I imagined it, only colder.
The radio crackled.
"This is the tenth victim of the Jungle Justice initiator. His private parts were removed, the crime scene far too graphic—even seasoned photographers couldn't stomach it. Authorities believe the killer held a personal vendetta against this victim—"
I winced. Damn. Who does that to another human being?
I switched the channel—landed on a soft music station. Something mellow played. I exhaled and settled into the silence. Then I heard it—a soft sniffle.
I glanced sideways. Her face turned toward the window. Shoulders slightly trembling.
She was crying.
That caught me off guard. She didn't strike me as the kind who cried in public—or at all.
To give her space, I turned the volume up, filling the car with sound. Pretending I hadn't noticed.
Pretending she wasn't breaking down two feet from me.
By the time we got to the hotel, the tears were gone.
So was she—fast asleep.
I sat there, unsure whether to wake her. Would she snap at me? Call me names?
In the end, I let her rest. My job was done for the day. A few minutes wouldn't kill either of us.
Somewhere along the line, I must've dozed off too.
When I woke up, she was gone.
But there was a note on the dash.
"Can't believe I fell asleep in front of a total stranger. Here's my contact: +7 8564300216. Make sure to call—I won't be meeting with that woman anymore. Since I'm sure you're not a fraud, I'll hand everything over to you. Smiles."
Smiles? Who still used that in 2025?
I flipped the note."And also, thanks for the ride."
Somehow… that made me feel fulfilled.
The drive back was quiet. Not the usual kind—something deeper. I stopped outside Buldak Noodles.
Evening had settled in, and the air carried Lucia's spices. Her dishes were my go-to, but tonight… I didn't feel like eating.
Inside, the place was quiet—just a few regulars. Lucia caught sight of me and immediately gestured for me to follow.
"The pipe's still acting up," she mouthed, but loud enough for everyone to hear. Typical Lucia. I'd told her a hundred times that no one would suspect anything if I followed her quietly—but she never listened.
We reached the back rooms. I stepped into Abigail's.
She was with Caleb.
They were laughing at something. Her hand swatted his arm lightly, playful.
It stung a little. The ease. The joy. Like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn't just lost a pregnancy.
They noticed me. Abigail's smile softened as she reached out.
"Hey, Rowan. Come here."
I crossed the room and hugged her. She rubbed my back like a big sister would.
Familiar. Reassuring.
"I'm okay now," she whispered.
"You gonna cry again?" Caleb asked,
smirking. "Be a man, Rowan."
"Let him be," Abigail cut in, shaking her head. "It's not like you don't cry. You just only ever let me see it. You know I'm like a sister to him—so yeah, imagine how he felt. Just let him be."
Caleb rolled his eyes.Caleb rolled his eyes and shoved me off her like I was some clingy stray.
"Get over yourself, Caleb," I muttered, brushing my shirt.
"What, crying's a felony now? Just because you've made a sport of bottling your shit up doesn't mean the rest of us should."
He scoffed. "Look at you, showing off. Must be nice having parents and grandparents around to teach you how to cry on cue."
I blinked, slow. "Right. So now I'm flaunting that my folks are alive?" I looked away, jaw tight. "Take it how you want, man. You're always twisting things."
Then I looked him dead in the eye."But seriously—how the hell did you end up with someone like Abigail?"
They always joked about being married—some inside thing between them. But I never took it seriously. Not with Caleb. He was too unpredictable, too careless. And yeah, she almost had his kid.
Almost.
He barely blinked when she lost it. Meanwhile, I watched her fall apart in silence, pretending not to for his sake.
Caleb was my friend—but sometimes, I think Abigail is too good for him.
Bright, beautiful, unapologetic, sharp as a blade.
Even after her family cut her off… probably because of him.Caleb stood. His energy shifted.
"Why?" he asked, voice low.
"You think she should've been with you instead?"I didn't move.
"No," I said calmly. "I just think she shouldn't be with you—because you don't deserve her."
That landed.
He didn't say anything.
Just swung.
Fist to jaw. Lights out, just for a second.
"Can you two stop?" Abigail snapped, voice slicing through the air.
She looked pissed—and rightfully so.