Chapter 6: Rivalry in the Rain

Outside the restaurant, it was raining.

The city lights blurred through the downpour, and the sidewalk glistened.

Mr. Carter was about to open his umbrella for himself and Rachel when another unexpected guest appeared out of the rain.

A young gentleman smiled at Rachel. “About that dance performance we talked about—still want to go?”

He was charming, all easy confidence and polite manners.

Rachel glanced at Mr. Carter, hesitated a moment, then politely agreed.

She didn’t look back, just followed the new guy into the night.

Watching all this, I finally understood what restraint looked like.

It looked like Mr. Carter’s left hand, reaching out then pulling back.

He wanted to chase after her, but he stopped himself—finally learning to let go. Progress, finally.

Rachel, in a black dress, slowly disappeared into the thick night, cool and distant.

She looked like a star fading behind clouds, and I felt a pang in my chest.

I recognized the man who’d taken her away.

Uncle Mark, one of Mr. Carter’s business partners.

He was famous for his charm—and his rivalry with my dad.

When he was young, he’d chased my mom hard.

When he was young... wasn’t that now?

It was weird, seeing the past and present blur together like that.

Even after my parents had been married for over twenty years, Mr. Carter still refused to invite him over for dinner.

He’d hold a grudge longer than most people held mortgages. Seriously, the man could outlast a thirty-year fixed rate.

Watching him now, it was clear Mr. Carter had a real complex about it.

He glared after Mark, jaw tight.

Once it was just Mr. Carter left, I walked up beside him.

I hesitated, then nudged him gently.

“It’s pouring. Have the driver take me home.”

Mr. Carter didn’t react.

He was lost in thought, staring into the puddles. Probably seeing his whole life in those reflections.

I turned to study him—he wasn’t in a state to be bothered.

Expressionless, jaw clenched, his temples throbbing.

I suddenly remembered how, back in private high school when I was bullied, Mr. Carter had stormed into the school and stood up for me so fiercely I didn’t dare breathe.

He’d marched right up to the principal, voice booming, and made sure nobody messed with me again.

As I trembled, he suddenly asked, “What did you just say?”

His voice snapped me out of my memory.

“Could you have the driver take me home, please?”

He shot me a look. “You sick or something? So polite.”

I rolled my eyes. “Who’s sick here?”

Twenty minutes later.

The rain had stopped.

The city smelled fresh, like wet concrete and blooming flowers.

Mr. Carter got out first, then told the driver to take me home.

“You’re not going home?” I poked my head out, looking at the bustling city.

“Going for a drink.”

He sounded tired, but determined.

Better not be at a club.

I got out too.