"I will never let her leave me," Lyan said to himself. "She will be my mine, because I think I love her!"
He smiled softly, "Did I just say love? I haven't known this woman for two hours! I don't even know her. Please, my heart—don't disappoint me!"
Angela must have sensed his gaze because she turned her head slightly, catching him mid-thought. Her eyes narrowed in quiet curiosity. "Is something wrong?"
Lyan shook his head quickly, clearing his throat. "No, nothing's wrong. I was just... making sure you're comfortable."
She tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make his chest tighten. "I am," she said softly, though there was a hint of skepticism in her tone, as if she couldn't quite believe it herself.
Lyan nodded and said, "I'll be upstairs. Make yourself comfortable."
Moments later, an elderly woman appeared from the kitchen, her movements slow but purposeful. She was dressed in a simple, warm sweater and slacks, her gray hair tied back in a neat bun. Her kind, weathered face broke into a gentle smile when she saw Angela.
"Ah, our guest," the woman said softly, her voice carrying the warmth of years spent caring for others. She stepped forward, her hands slightly trembling as she set a bowl of soup down on the table beside Angela. "I made some vegetable soup. It's not much, but it'll help you feel better."
Angela looked up at the woman, surprise flickering in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. She hadn't expected this level of kindness, especially from strangers.
The elderly woman's eyes softened as she gazed at Angela. "It's the least I can do," she said, smiling—but her tired eyes remained unchanged. She glanced toward Lyan, who had already started up the staircase. "Mr Chandra's a good man," she added in a lower voice, as if sharing a secret. "He may not show it, but he has a heart of gold."
Angela watched Lyan's retreating figure, unsure of what to make of the woman's words. He had been kind, yes, but she still didn't fully understand why. Why had he stepped in, a stranger, offering help when she hadn't even asked for it? It seemed almost too good to be true.
"Is everything all right?" the elderly woman asked, noticing Angela's silence.
Angela hesitated, then shook her head. "It's nothing, ma'am. Just... a lot to process."
The woman studied her for a moment, then nodded knowingly. "Take your time. Time is the answer to everything. Let me go get your room ready. By the way, you can call me Mrs Jones. Years of working for him."
Angela gave a small, appreciative smile as Mrs. Jones continued. "Thank you, Mrs. Jones," she said softly, her voice holding a trace of gratitude that she hadn't expected to feel.
Mrs. Jones nodded with a knowing smile. "It's my pleasure, dear. I've seen many things in my time working for Mr. Chandra. He's not one for showing vulnerability, but he does care. Sometimes, more than he realizes."
Angela's thoughts shifted toward Lyan again, as she processed Mrs. Jones's words. He hadn't been the same as other wealthy men she had encountered. There was something different about him—something deeper that she couldn't quite place. But what was the cost of his kindness? The more she thought about it, the more uncertain she became.
"I'll be right back," Mrs. Jones added, her voice pulling Angela from her thoughts. With a soft shuffle of her slippers, the elderly woman turned and disappeared down a hallway, leaving Angela alone with her bowl of soup.
Angela stared at it for a moment, her mind swirling with questions and doubts. After a few minutes, Lyan stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at Angela with an almost unreadable expression. In his hands, he held a neatly folded set of clothes—a soft sweater and a pair of comfortable sweatpants.
"These are mine. They might be a bit big, but we can manage until morning." he said quietly, walking toward her and setting the clothes down on the coffee table. "You're welcome to change into something dry. I will be in my study, Mrs Jones will help you with everything."
Angela looked up at Lyan as he spoke, feeling a rush of gratitude and discomfort at the same time. "Now that I am safe, what is going to happen to my mom?" Angela wondered. "What if this man was just another one of Anthony's schemes?"
" The kindness he showed her felt foreign, almost too much to accept.
Lyan's gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if waiting for her to say something, but when she remained quiet, he gave a small nod and turned to walk away. When he entered the study, Andrew quietly followed him to continue their work.
Angela remained seated for a moment, staring at the clothes on the coffee table. The house was quiet now, save for the distant murmur of Lyan and Andrew's voices in the study.
"This is strange," Angela thought. minutes ago, she had been on the street, alone and without a plan. Now, she was here, in a luxurious home, receiving help from a man who seemed to be offering it without any agenda. The simplicity of his gesture—a pair of clothes, a place to rest—felt like more than she had allowed herself to believe was possible.
Mrs Jones appeared from the door and called her name, "Let me show you to the room, Angela."
Angela picked up the set of clothes from the table... and stood up, her thoughts still swirling as she followed Mrs. Jones down the hallway.
As they walked through the house, Angela couldn't help but marvel at its beauty. The walls were lined with elegant paintings, and the floors gleamed with the polished sheen of high-end wood. It was a world far removed from her own, one she had never imagined she'd be a part of, even for a brief moment. "This is the most beautiful place I've ever been."