Aidan watched her retreating back—small, stubborn, looking as if it could be shattered by the storm at any moment. For some reason, it left a faint mark on his mind.
He watched her try again and again, failing to move the dead-weight scooter. The rain plastered her thin uniform to her body, making her look even more wretched.
"Uncle Zhang," Aidan said suddenly, addressing his assistant. "Take her home."
"What?" Uncle Zhang was stunned for a moment.
"I said, take her home," Aidan's tone left no room for argument. "Her, and that piece of junk she calls a scooter."
He turned and walked back into the art center, as if the entire episode had been nothing more than a trivial interruption.
"Miss, Mr. Lin says you should get in the car," Uncle Zhang said, holding the umbrella over Stella. His attitude was much warmer now.
Stella froze, looking back at the closed doors of the art center, a storm of emotions swirling inside her.
That man. He was arrogant, cold... but maybe not entirely bad.
The rain was still pouring.
But for some reason, Stella felt that tonight's storm wasn't quite so cold anymore.
Stella finally managed to drag her soaked body back to her tiny rental apartment, a place she morbidly called her "pigeon coop."
The click of the lock shutting behind her sealed off the noise of the outside world. The room was pitch black. The smell of damp mildew mixed with the lingering scent of takeout boxes hit her like an invisible net, trapping her.
She didn't turn on the light. Leaning against the cold metal door, she slid to the floor. The helmet came off, and water dripped from her long hair down her cheeks. Rain, or tears? She couldn't tell.
Her phone screen was still lit, a glaring red exclamation mark from her landlord demanding rent. Tomorrow was the deadline.
She had nothing. Absolutely nothing.