CHAPTER 25: CHAPTER 25- GIRLFRIEND

During the days when Renata was finally recovering and about to be discharged, Catherine began sending out her résumé to companies almost every day. Whenever there was an interview opportunity, she would go—no matter how tired she was.

Now that Renata’s condition had stabilized and she only needed time and care to fully recover after leaving the hospital, a heavy weight was lifted off Catherine’s chest.

What she needed most now was a job.

She couldn’t keep living off what little savings they had left.

That afternoon, after finishing an interview, she sat for a while on a bench outside the café on the first floor of the office building. She ordered a cup of coffee and drank it slowly.

She was exhausted and just wanted a brief rest before heading back to the hospital to take care of Renata.

To most people, Catherine always appeared unbreakable—

the strong daughter who took care of her ailing mother, rushing alone between home and hospital, without a man by her side, without a father to rely on. Everything she bore, she bore alone.

Since returning home, she had lost several pounds.

But there were moments, like now, when the cracks beneath her calm exterior began to show.

Moments when she simply had to stop—just sit still for a little while, and breathe.

She was also terribly sleepy. For the interview, she had stayed up all night sketching several sets of jewelry designs, hoping to impress the recruiters. She hadn’t gone to bed until four in the morning, and after only a few hours of sleep, she had woken up to tend to Renata. When Renata took her afternoon nap, Catherine rushed out again for her interview.

Now her head was spinning.

She lowered her gaze to the design drafts in her hands, sipping her coffee in small mouthfuls, hoping the caffeine might help her stay awake.

A soft breeze blew, brushing her hair across her forehead. She tucked it gently behind her ear and went on studying her sketches with quiet focus.

When her coffee was almost finished and she was about to get up to leave, a shadow suddenly fell across her. She looked up in surprise—

—and there he was.

Just as she remembered from their previous encounters: composed, mature, with those sharp, unreadable eyes.

Catherine had actually been trying to contact him these past few days to thank him properly, but hadn’t been able to reach him. Seeing him appear in front of her now, her first instinct was to ask for his contact information so she could express her gratitude later. She didn’t have time to talk long—Renata was waiting at the hospital.

But before she could open her mouth, he stepped forward, took her hand, and gently pulled her up from her seat.

Catherine instinctively tried to resist, startled, but then she heard his low, calm voice close to her ear:

"Help me with something."

The moment he said that, all her resistance vanished.

After all, he had already helped her several times before. She hadn’t even had the chance to thank him properly—how could she possibly refuse him now? Refusal would seem heartless.

Still half-dazed, she grabbed her things as he led her into the café and up the stairs to the second floor.

His hand remained around hers the whole time—warm, steady, his touch firm yet gentle.

The contact made her cheeks flush hot.

Aside from Gerald, she had never held a man’s hand like this before.

His palm was warm and dry, carrying a quiet strength that seemed to reach right into her heart, melting something deep within her.

Catherine didn’t ask what kind of "help" he needed.

Her instinct told her to trust him—

that whatever he was asking wouldn’t be anything unreasonable, that it would be something within her power to do.

And as he held her hand and guided her forward, a strange calm began to settle in her chest.

Walking beside such a composed, self-assured man, it was impossible not to be influenced by his quiet steadiness. The aura he carried seemed to envelop her, and for a fleeting moment, she felt as though—

as long as he was there, she had nothing to worry about.

He led her up to the second floor, their hands still linked, until they reached a table by the window.

Seated there was a woman with flawless makeup and an elegant air. She wore a crisp white Chanel suit—this season’s newest collection—its understated luxury perfectly matching her sharp, confident expression.

At the sight of the two of them approaching hand in hand, the woman’s face shifted—first in surprise, then in anger.

When they stopped in front of her, the man’s arm slipped naturally around Catherine’s waist, pulling her gently but firmly against him. With a polite smile, he said to the woman,

"Miss Sophia, this is my girlfriend, Catherine. So... I’m really sorry."

The moment his arm circled her waist, Catherine’s entire body tensed.

He must have noticed it, because his grip tightened slightly—a subtle signal for her to play along.

Understanding his intent, she stopped resisting. From his words alone, she could more or less piece together what was happening.

So this was a blind date he clearly hadn’t wanted to attend.

And now he was using her as a convenient escape.

Still, when he called her his girlfriend, something inside her fluttered.

Her face grew hot all over again, though she had no idea why.

To the woman across the table, Catherine’s flustered reaction only appeared shy and delicate—the perfect image of a bashful girlfriend.

Her expression hardened, fury flashing across her face as she shot up from her seat.

"Mr. Washington said you didn’t have a girlfriend! What is this supposed to mean?"

Bert remained impeccably calm, his voice deep and steady as he offered an explanation.

"I’m truly sorry. I don’t see my father very often, so he probably didn’t know about my relationship. I also didn’t realize this was a setup for a date—if I had, I would have cleared things up with him beforehand."

His tone was polite and measured—no trace of guilt or agitation, only quiet sincerity.

The woman stared at him for a long moment, lips pressed tight, then scoffed sharply.

With a huff, she snatched up her purse and stormed off, the clack of her high heels echoing through the café as she disappeared down the stairs.

Once she was gone, Bert released his hand from Catherine’s waist and looked down at her with that composed, gentlemanly expression.

"Thank you."

Though his hand was no longer on her, their bodies were still close—too close.

Half of Catherine’s body was still leaning lightly against his chest. His low, resonant voice rumbled above her head, like a deep cello note vibrating through her skin. The faint warmth radiating from him seemed to seep into her, and her cheeks burned even hotter.

Flustered, she stepped back quickly to put distance between them and shook her head.

"You don’t have to thank me. You’ve helped me so many times before. This was... nothing, really."

It was true. All she’d done was stand beside him and pretend to be his girlfriend for a few minutes. Compared to what he’d done—helping her find a doctor for Renata, rescuing Riley from the police station—her favor was trivial.

Bert tilted his head slightly, one brow arching with amusement.

"So we’re even now, hmm?"

He dropped into the seat beside her, one leg casually crossed over the other, his posture relaxed and elegant. From that angle, Catherine had no choice but to meet his gaze—dark, searching, unreadable.

Their eyes met for only a moment before she looked away in a hurry, murmuring,

"If we’re counting favors... I think I still owe you more."

He didn’t reply immediately. Instead, a soft chuckle escaped him—a quiet, almost teasing sound.

Catherine glanced up, slightly embarrassed.

When he smiled like that, some of the chill around him melted away. The fine lines near his eyes deepened faintly, not as signs of age but of character. They made him seem more human—warm, magnetic, impossibly composed.

There was something about him—something dangerously attractive in the way maturity softened into charm.

Bert, meanwhile, was laughing inwardly at her innocence.

If she truly knew the man from that night two years ago was him, she wouldn’t be thanking him like this.

He found her naïveté both endearing and troubling.

Was she really so kindhearted that she could only see the good in people, never the shadows hidden beneath?

His gaze drifted across her pale, porcelain face, lingering briefly on the faint pink tint of her ears. Then, glancing down, he noticed the papers she’d been holding.

"You just came from an interview?"

No wonder she looked so polished today—a white chiffon blouse tucked neatly into high-waisted black trousers, small heels completing the look. The simple, professional outfit gave her a quiet sophistication.

When his eyes briefly trailed to the bit of her ankle showing above her heels, his expression darkened almost imperceptibly before he looked away.

Catherine, oblivious to the shift in his gaze, simply nodded.

"Mm."

Bert regained his composure and gestured to the chair opposite him.

"Sit for a bit. I interrupted your coffee earlier. Let me buy you another."

He thought absently that autumn had made his throat dry again—he’d need to prepare something soothing later.

"No, it’s all right. I still need to go to the hospital—"

Catherine shook her head, about to refuse, but before she could finish, his phone rang.

He murmured a polite "excuse me" and stepped aside to answer it.

Catherine hesitated. Leaving without a word felt impolite, so she decided to wait until he finished the call and say goodbye properly.

But the call went on far longer than she expected.

At first, she sat upright, waiting patiently. Then she leaned back against the couch.

A little later, she folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them.

And eventually—lulled by exhaustion and the gentle hum of the café—

Catherine drifted off to sleep.

The coffee she’d just drunk hadn’t helped her stay awake at all.