After Becoming Mortal Enemies

It’s true what they say: enemies are bound to cross paths. The company took on a new project, and wouldn’t you know it, Chase and I were assigned to work together.

Since the construction crew was brought in by the partnering company, Chase and I were responsible for supervising on-site.

I knew the drill – corporate slaves should know their place. Despite the dirty and chaotic environment, I worked hard, rain or shine.

Chase and I kept it strictly professional, only speaking when necessary for work. No extra words were exchanged.

The client was pushing hard for progress, so the construction crew worked around the clock to meet deadlines.

We basically lived on the construction site, eating, drinking, and handling all other business there, only leaving to sleep.

One day, there was an issue with the project details, and we were discussing the design plans with the foreman when someone reported that the top executive from the client’s side had arrived.

Just as we were about to greet him, the client’s boss, Mr. Foster, strolled over, surrounded by his entourage.

He tilted his head and asked me about the project’s progress. I answered each of his questions, thankful that my time on-site hadn’t been wasted.

But he wasn’t pleased, complaining that the progress was too slow.

Seeing that Chase wasn’t speaking up, I quickly offered a polite explanation, saying that the construction team had encountered some issues and there were minor deviations that we were fixing, but we were still strictly adhering to the contract, and the project would be delivered on time.

Then Mr. Foster called over the head of the construction crew and gave him a good scolding. The foreman stood there, looking like a kicked dog, and I couldn’t help but say a few words in his defense, which only earned me a place in the doghouse alongside him.

Just then, Chase stepped in, saying, “The project’s support structure is complex. There was a mistake in the layout, which led to a misaligned foundation, but it’s been corrected according to the design plans, so the timeline won’t be affected.”

Before I could marvel at how calm and collected Chase was, a fully loaded cart suddenly lost control and barreled toward us.

We were standing at the bottom of a slope, and the cart was speeding toward us.

Reacting faster than I could think, I shoved Mr. Foster to the side and grabbed the handle of the cart with all my might.

But the momentum pulled me along with it, and as Chase and the foreman rushed to steady the cart, I was flung to the ground, my helmet flying off.

It was a spectacularly embarrassing moment.

I scrambled to my feet and immediately checked if our precious client was okay, not noticing that in my effort, I’d badly scraped my right arm, with my left hand also taking some damage.

Staring at the blood pooling on the ground, I froze as the pain hit me.

Mr. Foster, also taken aback, forgot his anger and ordered someone to take me to the hospital.

Before leaving, I was still trying to reassure him through the pain, “It’s nothing, Mr. Foster, just a scratch. But rest assured, we’ll stick to the schedule.”

I was really putting my all into this client service.

On the way to the hospital, Chase spoke, “Were you out of your mind, trying to stop a speeding cart with your body?”

I was in too much pain to respond.

At the hospital’s outpatient clinic, Chase explained the situation to a doctor, who was pretty woman and seemed to know Chase.

“It’s you?” The doctor’s surprise had a hint of sarcasm, making my wounds feel even worse.

“Would you believe me if I said I must have been kicked in the head by a horse that day?” I lowered my head, swallowing my pride.

Please don’t kick me when I’m down. I begged silently.

Chase and the doctor exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything.

The doctor who treated my wounds turned out to be none other than Nora Morris, Chase’s almost-fiancée, whose engagement I had ruined.

As my wounds was being treated, I felt like I was sitting on pins and needles, every minute dragging on.

After my wounds were bandaged, I stood up and apologized to the doctor sincerely. She just pursed her lips and ignored me.

Judging by her professionalism in treating my injuries, she was undoubtedly a competent doctor. She didn’t mess with my wounds, and throughout the process, she even told me to relax. Her medical ethics were impeccable, making me feel even more guilty.

On the ride back, I sat stiffly, staring at Chase’s sharply defined profile. I asked in a small voice, “Are you two still together? You both must really hate me.”

Chase let out a cold snort. “What do you think? But not everyone is as vindictive as you.”

I wanted to ask more, but Chase changed the subject, looking at my heavily bandaged arm. “It doesn’t seem like you’re that badly hurt if you’ve still got the energy to think about other things.”

I bowed my head and said gratefully, “Thanks for bringing me to the hospital.”

Chase glanced at me and said, “Don’t think I wanted to – I’m just here on behalf of the company.”

He added, “Besides, my dad specifically told me to take you. After all, you got hurt protecting him.”

I was startled. I should have guessed – they both share the same last name, Foster. And there I was, busy admiring his composure.

But I quickly regained my calm and said, “Oh, it’s fine. He’s the client, after all. If I hadn’t done that, there would’ve been an accident.”

Realizing he was just doing his job, I became more relaxed, and my tone less polite.

Chase sighed and said, “Windy, seriously, do you ever do anything that a normal person would?”

He paused, then added, “You ruined my engagement, and I haven’t even held you accountable for that; yet here you are, acting like the victim.”

I said weakly, “I’m really sorry about messing up your engagement, But I was just following orders.”

Chase sneered. “Orders from my mom, I suppose?”

I was shocked. How did he know about the shady deal between me and his mom?

I had no choice but to confess, “60 grand. Forgive me, I’ve never seen that much money before.”

Chase’s face darkened. “So I was right.”

Damn, he tricked me into confessing.

I apologized hurriedly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was wrong. I got greedy. I let the money blind me.”

He stared at me for a long time, his expression unreadable, and said nothing.