Page 8 of The Forbidden Villain
Just great.
Located right in the center of New York, the coffee shop beams with life and joy as thousands of people rush past it on their way to work or to whatever adventure they have planned next.
The twenty tables are spread all over their territory with pink tablecloths and white porcelain from France. The owner is a French chef with a successful chain of restaurants worldwide.
Servers wearing pink pants and white shirts effortlessly navigate around the tables, periodically disappearing inside to pick up orders, only to return to the terrace holding heavy trays of food and drink for their excited customers.
Despite having some seating inside the coffee shop, no one ever sits there, since the weather and location are always perfect for outdoor dining.
There’s a reason it’s one of the most popular places in town.
And unfortunately, it’s my sister-in-law Emmaline’s favorite place to visit, so all the staff are familiar with me and hover over me like helicopters, ready to step in should anyone insult me.
Unfortunately, my scars almost scream vulnerability, and it makes the good people want to protect me from the cruelty of this world, which is ironic, considering it’s impossible.
Our world has no mercy for imperfections.
“Yes. I just remembered I have an appointment, so I’ll take the muffins to go.”
“Sure. I’ll be right out.” She sends the guy a side-eye before dashing off inside.
Once she’s away, I focus my attention on the man who lifts his brow at me, only to choke on his drink when I hook thestrands of my hair behind my ear and show him my right side in all its scarred glory. “My scars may limit my choices, but they don’t make me desperate or stupid.” He opens his mouth to argue, only to grit his teeth when the server comes back, holding two bags. The delicious smells waft through the air, making my stomach rumble. Missing out on tasting pastries fresh from the oven is a far greater crime than the asshole dissing my looks. “Thank you, Emma.”
“My pleasure.”
The guy gets up, drops his own money, and smirks. I must have really hurt his ego for him to keep arguing. “You'd better be careful with this attitude and lower your standards.” He salutes me with his drink and finishes it. “Can’t be too greedy or you’ll be left with nothing.”
“Oh, you speak from experience?”
“You fu?—”
I walk away from the guy, having no interest in hearing another insult thrown my way. The black sedan is already waiting for me, and the driver jumps out, running around and opening the door wide for me. “Miss Wright.” He greets me, and I smile, hopping inside and welcoming the warmth that instantly surrounds me, creating a protective cocoon that shields me from people’s cruelty.
No matter how much I try, I still can’t get used to their intrusive stares. Once it got so bad, I came home and researched the best plastic surgeons who could fix me.
However, the thought of anyone putting any kind of sedatives in me ever again turned me off from the idea.
I don’t take any painkillers, even at the dentist’s office, preferring to suffer from the pain rather than lose my consciousness.
No needles. That’s my new motto in life.
Once my driver is seated and has his hands on the steering wheel, I order, “Let’s go home, and please don’t mention this to my brothers.”
“Of course, miss,” he quickly says, catching my reflection in the review mirror and grinning at me, the wrinkles on his face deepening. Uneasiness rushes through me at the kindness shining in his eyes. The man has this whole good-grandpa vibe around him despite never having any grandkids, and maybe that’s why my brothers hired him to take me everywhere.
I can’t drive. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to do it. Sometimes the honking noises can freeze me to the spot or bring back unwanted memories. So one driving lesson was enough for me to ditch the idea.
Another thing forever stolen from me.
Biting my lip, I force myself to stop this trail of thoughts and focus only on the present, for the present might be cold and vicious, but it’s not painful.
It’s not unbearable either, and sometimes that’s enough.
It has to be enough because I won’t have anything more anytime soon.
Resting my head against the seat, I roll down the window as Gordon starts the car and drives into the narrow road leading to my brother’s penthouse located in the center of the city.
After all, I don’t owe a dime to my name, and my lack of education makes me a less-than-ideal candidate for any work.
