Chapter 10 Chapter 10 Apologies, Champagne, and a Bentley

Sabrina's first instinct was to avoid. She set her phone down like nothing happened and moved on.

But clearly, the other party wasn't going to let it go that easy. The next day, right on time, without even waiting for her reply-or caring if she sent one-a message popped up like she had agreed.

[Hi Miss Lionhart, I've arrived. The traffic must be a nightmare, no worries if you're running late.]

Sabrina was speechless. She seriously thought the people at Pama had skin thicker than armor. She didn't bother to respond.

About twenty minutes later, another text arrived.

[Not sure how much longer you'll be, so I've gone ahead and ordered. Wouldn't want to waste your time.]

At this point, she was practically choking on her disbelief.

Twenty more minutes, and ding-another one.

This time, there was a photo attached too.

The table was covered with nine different dishes-meat, fish, veggies, shrimp, even a fancy little soup pot. Alongside the image, a new caption:

[You must still be stuck in traffic. I covered the dishes so they don't get cold. I also ordered white truffle consommé for you-it's super dry here this fall, and I figured it must be tough to adjust.]

Sabrina was so annoyed she almost texted back something sarcastic. Like, was this supposed to be a comedy show?

But after her fingers tapped the screen a few times, she stopped herself.

She knew whoever was behind all this was likely just following orders from the company. No point throwing a fit at the messenger.

So she tossed her phone aside and swore not to look at it again.

By 11 p.m., Monica came back from her shift, grabbed Sabrina's phone to kill some time, and saw the whole message thread.

After scrolling through every single text, she gave a thumbs-up with a face full of sarcasm. "Damn, Pama folks... talk about persistence."

She was the only one who knew what really went down during Sabrina's kidnapping, so her words carried weight.

Sabrina sighed. Looking back now, part of her did feel a little bad.

Monica eyed her. "Listen, don't let guilt trip you. Sure, don't lash out at the guy, but anyone working for a company that thinks kidnapping is cool? Clearly messed up. And come on, you never planned to work with them anyway. Why stress?"

She tossed Sabrina's phone on the couch, leaned back hard, and stretched like a cat.

"But I do feel like..."

"Shhh," Monica cut her off without hesitation. "No buts. Go sleep, be good."

Sabrina pouted but quietly headed to bed.

The next day? Yep, another message.

Only thing that changed? The menu. Still nine plates, white truffle consommé still front and center.

It made her feel like someone jabbed a fork into her heart.

She told Monica again, who just gave her the same advice-ignore it.

So another day, Sabrina just powered through feeling torn.

Day three...

Same thing all over again.

She finally had enough.

Wearing casual clothes, Sabrina headed straight to the restaurant. She was there to shut this nonsense down.

Yep, nonsense.

Because the waste made her sick. From the texts, it was obvious-she'd been a no-show every time, but instead of packing up the food, they just let the servers toss it out.

If it kept up, she was convinced the food gods would punish her for letting all that go to waste.

She told Monica her plan and let her know she was already on the way. Monica just replied with a string of ellipses-guess she was speechless.

Sabrina tucked her phone away and rubbed her cheeks, prepping herself to keep a straight face and stay serious later.

But honestly, she felt like a sheep heading into a wolf's den. How could she possibly hold her ground against Pama, who clearly knew how to play social games?

As soon as she arrived, the two smooth-talking, good-looking guys jumped in-she didn't even have time to get a word in.

They were ridiculously tall, like straight out of a model catalog. Sabrina started to suspect Pama had hired professional models just for this.

They poured her drinks, served her food, practically spoon-fed her. It was painfully obvious what tactic Pama was using-flirt their way into forgiveness.

"Miss Lionhart, hope the dishes are to your taste?" the guy with the half-Western features blinked at her, trying the whole puppy vibe.

"If not, we'll order something else for you right away," the man with the more traditional Sinoa vibe added quickly, sounding mature and polished.

Compared to Cedric, though, these two felt like kids putting on a show.

"Okay, hold on. You guys really don't-" Sabrina tried to interrupt them.

But the traditional-looking guy jumped right in, "Miss Lionhart, we're sincerely sorry about what happened. The man who kidnapped you has already turned himself in and faces legal punishment. He worked in sales, and honestly, the recent online rumors have really hurt Pama's image... We're victims too."

"Yeah, Pama truly wants to make amends," the half-Western guy cut in, reaching for his phone. "If you'd like, I can call the top exec to come apologize personally."

"No thanks," Sabrina blurted out before she could stop herself.

Her head was already spinning from these two buzzing like bees-she couldn't deal with a third.

"So... does that mean you understand where we're coming from?" The half-Western guy looked at her with hopeful eyes.

Understand.

Now that was tricky wording.

If he'd said "forgive," she'd have said no, hands down. But "understand"? That was... complicated. She did get it. Everyone has their struggles. When flagship products start tanking, sales gets the axe first.

She did understand.

But if she admitted to that, they'd twist it into her saying she forgave them.

Sabrina felt torn. She'd always been the energetic type-so why the heck had she chosen a career in R&D? Days and nights in the lab didn't suit her.

But standing here now, she got it: compared to the chaos of real life, she'd rather be back in the lab with her beakers and vials. At least those wouldn't stab her in the back.

"I've got stuff to do. Let's just end it here for tonight. Don't ask me out again. This kind of thing just makes me more uncomfortable," she said, grabbing her bag and getting up.

They didn't insist. They stood and followed her out.

Once at the restaurant entrance, the half-Western guy offered to call a car and stepped outside, leaving her waiting inside. The other guy-Sinoa-style-pulled a car key from his pocket.

Sabrina's gaze instantly locked onto the logo: Bentley.

Her expression tensed, wariness flashing in her eyes.

Sure enough, the next second the man spoke, "Miss Lionhart, Pama sincerely regrets what happened. We also owe you an apology. We heard you just returned to Sinoa and haven't gotten a car yet. Please accept this gift."

"I can't drive," Sabrina shot back without hesitation.

"Miss Lionhart, that's not quite true," the man replied smoothly. "Two days ago near Center Road, there was a minor accident. A car drove into a flowerbed. If our intel's right, you were the one behind the wheel."

Sabrina felt her soul leave her body.

She really wished he hadn't brought that up. Just hearing it again made her want to cry.

That car wasn't even hers-it was Monica's. She'd borrowed it on a whim to go shopping, and bam, crash.

She hadn't sold her Twinkle yet and now owed Monica a pretty penny.

"Whatever the case, I'm not accepting it. Take it back. Does Pama always force things onto people like this?" Sabrina's eyes darkened now, her whole vibe screaming annoyance.

A Bentley, seriously? And given how eager Pama was to make peace, it clearly wasn't a cheap model.

"Miss Lionhart, please-this is just a gesture. Pama only wants to make amends," the man insisted, stepping forward, trying to press the keys into her hands.

Sabrina just stepped back again and again.

Honestly, if she were to accept it, no one could say she didn't deserve it. Being kidnapped isn't exactly a walk in the park-she was owed some mental compensation, at least.

But she just couldn't bring herself to do it.

She was one of those types: once she took something from you, she'd feel obligated, like you had a rope around her neck.

Just like back then-everything changed after she accepted a cup of milk tea from Cedric.

Back, back, back-until her heel stepped on someone.

She whipped around. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Then she saw those polished shoes. Perfectly pressed slacks. That all-too-familiar aura looming behind her.

It's weird how sometimes, just a tiny detail is enough to recognize someone instantly.

She froze for a beat, then slowly looked up.

Of course-it was the one person she hadn't spoken to since their awkward falling-out at Auburn Dining.

Cedric stood there, expression as blank as ever. Black and white suit, sharp edges and all-he looked less like a guy and more like a high-level boss in a spy drama. His features were knife-sharp, thick brows, and narrow eyes. Just standing there silently was enough to give people chills.

Especially now, with his eyes zeroed in on the guy with the old-school suit, radiating pure impatience. The kind that made him seem like he walked straight out of a martial arts drama.

Safe bet he'd seen the whole thing.

After all, if there's one thing Cedric can't stand, it's people beating around the bush.

Now that she ran into someone she actually knew, Sabrina figured he wouldn't just stand by and let this mess happen without doing anything. So she quickly stepped around him, parking herself right behind him like he was her personal bodyguard.

"Who are you?" asked the man with the traditional look.

It should've sounded aggressive. But one glance at Cedric's face turned it into just a regular question.

Sabrina could only sigh. These so-called "elite negotiators" weren't exactly doing their homework. You work for Pama and don't even recognize one of their biggest competitors?

Anyway, there was no way Cedric would lower himself to answer such a dumb question. That cool façade was hiding a mountain of pride.

It reminded her of back in college when Cedric had just started. Some new students, mostly girls, would keep whispering about him-"Who is he? He's so good-looking."

When someone finally said his name-"That's Cedric"-someone still asked, "So who's that?"

She'd shared the story with Cedric once, thinking it would amuse him, maybe even flatter him.

He'd just scoffed and said, deadpan, "If they don't even know who I am, I'm more interested in knowing what backwater place they crawled out of."

Looking back now, Sabrina had to admit-that wasn't pride. That was some A-grade dramatic nerd energy.