Chapter 5
For a split second, I thought it was Leon and I froze, dread prickling my skin. But then I noticed the scent–a faint hint of tobacco, warm and unfamiliar, nothing like Leon’s.
Slowly, I turned to look and in the dim glow of the hall lights, I saw a man standing a few steps above me. His face was kind, his eyes reflecting concern. He was someone I didn’t know, yet a tiny red mole above his brow tugged at something in my memory.
The man stepped closer, holding out a hand to help me up, his expression both gentle and steady.
“Ollie? Aren’t you supposed to be abroad for business?”
Hearing the old nickname, Oliver’s face softened with a slight, almost
imperceptible smile. He didn’t respond right away; instead, he knelt down,
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gathering my clothes and belongings
scattered along the staircase. Once he had everything, he straightened up and
extended a hand toward me.
“Mom told me you’d agreed to meet me,” he said calmly. “Whatever I had to handle.
overseas can wait.”
I took his hand, feeling the warmth and strength in his grip. It was so different from the sweaty little hands I remembered from when we were children. Back then, Oliver was the clumsy boy who would blush at the slightest touch, but now… he felt steady,
solid.
“So… how did you find me here?” I asked, looking away to hide my flushed cheeks.
With a slight, knowing smile, Oliver picked up my broken suitcase with one hand, still holding me steady with the other. “For the Gray Family, finding someone in this city isn’t difficult,” he replied, glancing at me with an unreadable expression. “But we should get out of the cold first–let’s go.”
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I followed him out to the car, feeling a mix of comfort and disbelief. His presence was strangely soothing. Once we were inside. his sleek, dark sedan, the subtle scent of gardenias filled the air. I recognized it immediately; it was a fragrance I’d once adored and hadn’t smelled in years. The scent tugged at some deeply buried memory, reminding me of carefree summer days, childhood laughter and promises that felt endless.
As Oliver drove, he was silent, his attention focused on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. Greenwoods slipped by outside, the streets quiet under the blanket of night. In the glow of the city lights, I could see his face–strong jawline, slightly furrowed brows, the tiny red mole above his brow that I’d remembered from so long ago. He seemed lost in his own thoughts and I wondered if he, too, felt the awkwardness of our childhood engagement looming over
- us.
We soon pulled up in front of a large villa
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on the southern outskirts of Greenwoods. The house was beautiful, surrounded by a garden brimming with tall, fragrant
gardenias. Oliver turned off the engine and looked over at me.
“Does the scent feel familiar?” he asked, his voice soft. “When we were kids, you told me gardenias were your favorite. It took some effort, but I found them.”
The simplicity of his words hit me harder than I expected, stirring something deep. within. I didn’t know how to respond, so I just nodded. Sensing my silence, Oliver got out, walked around and opened my door, offering his hand.
“Come on, dinner’s ready.”
The warm lights from the villa spilled out onto the garden, casting a soft glow over the flowers and the path to the door. I followed Oliver, trying to steady my racing heart. My mom’s words echoed in my mind: “Ollie’s grown into quite a young man…”
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She hadn’t exaggerated. The boy who once trailed after me had become a man, tall and confident, his tailored suit
complementing his lean frame. As he held the door open for me, I caught a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye and I realized that he was more handsome than I remembered–more handsome than I’d ever noticed before.
“Hurry up, or the food will get cold,” he said, watching me from the doorway, a faint smile playing on his lips. I realized then that I’d been staring and quickly followed him inside, flustered.
In the dining room, the table was set with a small selection of dishes, but each one was something I liked. Oliver hadn’t taken a bite; instead, he simply watched as I ate, his
gaze unwavering yet gentle. As I
finished my meal, the silence became almost too heavy to bear. I looked up, breaking the quiet.
“Ollie, I know these arranged marriages are
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a bit ridiculous. You don’t have to feel
obligated to go along with it. You can go back to your business and I’ll speak to the family. It’s… it’s really a hassle.”
His eyes darkened for a brief moment before he leaned forward, his voice firm. “I don’t find it a hassle.”
There was an edge to his tone that surprised me. The playful, easygoing boy I remembered was gone. In his place was a man who knew what he wanted, a man who wasn’t going to be swayed. I swallowed, unsure how to respond. But before I could say anything, he added:
“And one more thing–don’t call me Ollie anymore. Call me Oliver.”
“Oh… alright… Oliver,” I managed to say, feeling a strange thrill at the firmness in his voice. His expression softened then and for a brief moment, a small smile returned to his face. The silence fell between us again, heavy with unspoken words. His gaze remained on me, intense, making me
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feel vulnerable and exposed.
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