When the check worth a million was pushed in front of her for the second time, Delilah Figueroa raised four of her fingers, moving it back once more while saying with a pained expression.
"No, really, Mr. Morgan."
The man sitting across from her was elegantly dressed and had a handsome figure with sharp, detailed features. His fine physique was wrapped in a well-ironed, handmade suit. The buttons of his shirt were meticulously fixed right up to the top button, exuding a vibe of abstinence that needs no words.
The sunlight from the window poured onto him through the glass, giving him a thin layer of pale gold, like a profound oil painting, too breathtaking to look away.
However, his aura was frosty, emitting a distance that seemed to shun people from a thousand miles away. Even his thanks for her heroic deed carried a wisp of icy undertone, "Miss Figueroa, I am incredibly grateful for your good Samaritan act. This is merely a trifling gift; please do not refuse."
Thus, the check came her way the third time.
Delilah had to return it the third time, "I was only lending a hand, and I truly cannot accept such a grand gesture. Please, Mr. Morgan, don't put me in this difficult position."
Perhaps the man was not used to being rejected over and over, he furrowed his brows slightly, his thin lips tightening, creating an intimidating aura.
This tug of war, with both parties exhibiting the courtesy of an ancient scholar, had been going on for half an hour ever since they met. Even though both were polite, it did not prevent the atmosphere from becoming increasingly stiff.
The man said nothing, and Delilah followed suit. She quietly picked up her coffee and took a small sip.
The origin of the whole event can be traced back to the previous evening. She was as usual, working part-time in a city center nightclub. Suddenly she received a call from her hometown and went to answer it on the fire escape for ten minutes.
When she came out, she ran into a few men leading a pretty young girl into the hallway across.
They had a rush of excitement on their faces, the thrill of capturing a prey, while the girl looked confused and flushed as if she had been drugged.
Delilah hesitated for only two seconds and quickly shut down the power supply to that hallway, calling for the club's security to come and help.
This was not the first time she stepped in to help.
"The nightlife scene, a place filled to the brim with all sorts of characters, was prone to unexpected events. She had previously encountered several girls who were about to be exploited, and she never missed an opportunity to help them escape safely.
Perhaps because of her good deeds, even the heavens seemed to want to reward her. Unexpectedly, Mr. Morgan, claiming to be the elder brother of the girl she helped the previous night, suddenly showed up, insisting that she accept a check as a token of his gratitude.
Who didn't love money? Especially for Delilah, a financially-strapped college student who worked part-time jobs to get by, it was like a godsend.
As she sipped her coffee, her large eyes couldn't help but steal glances at the check on the table, calculating her options.
She would graduate from college in just two months. She had no job lined up, no place of her own, and her aunt had hounded her the night before about her brother's child support payment. Moreover, her nightclub wages would not be paid until the end of the month.
Quietly gripping her left hand on her knee, Delilah decided she would swallow her pride for this significant amount. The old saying goes, 'third time's a charm’, right? If he pushed the check toward her again, she would shamelessly accept it!
After a long period of silence, the man finally spoke in a steady, unemotional tone, "If you insist on refusing, then I wouldn't force you."
Delilah jolted, almost spilling her coffee.
Despair, like a tidal wave, instantly overwhelmed her, causing a heart-wrenching pain. Her pretty little face reddened, then turned pale, the alternating colors painting her face as a myriad of words surged to her lips. In the end, she could only say with regret.
"Alright…Thank you for your understanding…"
"The one who should be thanking you is me," Rhys Morgan spoke in a calmer tone, with a forced smile adorning his lips. "How about this? I owe you a favor. If you need anything later, feel free to call me anytime.”
"Hahaha…You're too kind, really."
Delilah laughed outwardly, but inwardly she wished she could slap herself.
One million dollars!
That was one million dollars!
A sum that could instantly pull her from the slums up to the high life!
If she had known this would happen, why on earth had she persisted in being so reserved!
Rhys did not notice her nearly distorted face as he carefully put the check back into the inner pocket of his suit. Nodding at her, he stood up and left the coffee shop.
"
