His thick, ill-fitting black-framed glasses and oily demeanor made my stomach turn.
I kept my tone even but firm. "Sir, I have no plans to get married. Please leave."
The greasy man’s face contorted, his voice rising in indignation. "Ungrateful! You... you should be grateful I’m willing to marry you."
Before I could react, a fist collided with his face, sending his glasses shattering to the ground.
"It’s not your turn to humiliate Sylvia," a familiar voice growled, heavy with authority and anger.
I turned, stunned, to see Darrel standing there, his presence as commanding as ever.
He just stared coldly at the greasy man who fell to the ground. His cold aura did not allow anyone to challenge it.
“Sylvia is my wife. Put away your dirty thoughts and get out!”
“Mr. Gonzalez, please forgive me!”
The middle-aged woman hurriedly pulled the greasy man out of my house.
Then, Darrel turned around and stared at me with concern. “Sylvia, are you okay?”
That gentle look was just like before.
I actually still had a glimmer of hope that Darrel might still be the same Darrel as before. But the next second, he pulled me back to reality.