An Unlikely Rescue

Clara lowered her gaze to the scuffed linoleum floor of the police station, trying to mask the deep sadness swirling in her dark eyes. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, amplifying the stinging reality of Dominic Thorne’s apathy. How could the man she had faithfully dated for five years and been married to for three turn out to be so cold? Three years ago, he had thrown her out onto the streets without a single cent to her name, discarding her like garbage. Now, meeting him for the first time since that day, he was ready to throw her directly into a jail cell without pausing to hear her side of the story for even a second.

He truly was the most ruthless of men. Clara finally realized she had been blind to ever love him so unconditionally. She refused to apologize to the manipulative mistress who had ruined her marriage, which was exactly why she had been hauled into this bleak interrogation room.

Her miserable situation worsened when her phone buzzed against her leg, vibrating against the hard metal of the chair. Reaching into her pocket with trembling fingers, she saw Tristan Hayes’s name flashing on the cracked screen. She swiped to answer, pulling the device to her ear.

"Clara Vance, where the hell did you go?" her explosive boss roared through the speaker, his fury unmistakable. "Did I not tell you to wait for me in the lounge?"

"I'm sorry, President Hayes," Clara stammered, her voice shaking under the weight of her disastrous evening. "Something happened. I’m currently detained at the police station."

"What? Police station?" Tristan lost his notorious temper. "What are you doing at the police station?"

"I... I..." Clara could not find the words. How could she explain that her ex-husband was locking her up over a physical fight with his mistress?

"You can stay in the police station if you like it there so much," Tristan snapped, cutting off her stuttering. "I don’t want you as my assistant anymore. I’ll tell Caleb right now!"

A dead dial tone echoed in her ear. Clara’s heavy heart sank to the bottom of her stomach. She stared at the dark screen, realizing she was facing the living nightmare of being jailed and fired all in one disastrous night.

Noticing her pale face and shaking hands, a sympathetic, older police officer sitting across the metal desk tried to intervene. "Girl, why did you offend these people? One is Secretary Mercer’s precious daughter, and the other is the undisputed business tycoon Dominic Thorne. Why did you have to provoke them?" The officer sighed, sliding a piece of paper with a phone number across the scratched surface. "You should learn to read the room a little next time. An apology goes a long way. I have President Thorne’s number right here. Just swallow your pride, call him, and apologize to save yourself from ruin."

Clara remained resolute. She sat up straighter in the uncomfortable chair, ignoring the slip of paper. "Thank you, sir. But I don’t have a job or any place to go to anymore. I would be better off being locked up here, at least I'd get food and shelter for the time being... I’m not apologizing!"

Resigned to facing her harsh reality, she braced herself for whatever legal tricks Dominic had planned. She refused to believe his influence was strong enough to break her spirit. The officer just shook his head and walked off, leaving her alone with her spiraling thoughts.

Heavy, aggressive footsteps echoed down the quiet corridor, interrupting her racing mind. The interrogation room door swung open with a loud bang, bouncing off the wall. A furious Tristan Hayes stormed in, his designer jacket billowing behind him like a storm cloud.

"Clara Vance, such audacity you’ve in you!" he roared, beginning to berate her. "I’ve never encountered an assistant like you. Not only are you unable to help me, but you have caused me so much trouble and public embarrassment!"

"Mr. Hayes," Clara called out in a low, exhausted voice.

Tristan opened his mouth to continue his vicious tirade, but the words died in his throat. He froze upon finally getting a good look at her. She sat there in a disheveled state, her uniform stained and wrinkled. Dark, sticky wine still clung to her neck and soaked into the collar of her clothes, emitting a strong scent of alcohol. His blazing anger shifted to sharp confusion.

"What happened? How did you end up like this?"

"Nothing much. Someone threw wine at me," she murmured quietly, her head bowed as she dismissed the attacker simply as a nobody.

"Who did this?" Tristan demanded, grinding his teeth together.

"It was a nobody," she replied, keeping her gaze fixed on her lap.

Furious that his personal assistant was being bullied by a nobody, Tristan pulled out his phone. "Are you trying to make me look bad by letting yourself get bullied like that?" he snapped, dialing his contacts for backup. "Send two men over. My assistant was bullied. Take care of the people who did this!"

Panic flared in Clara's chest. She leaped up from the metal chair and grabbed his wrist, stopping his hand before the call could connect. "President Hayes! That person is in the hospital now. There is no need to send someone to take care of her... She’s the one who wants me taken care of!"

Tristan’s stern expression shifted. The realization that his seemingly timid assistant had actually hospitalized her bully hit him. A wide, pleased grin broke out across his handsome face. The fact that she fought back amused him.

"You did good!" he praised her, slapping his thigh in delight. The tension in the room vanished. "Never mind, no one will dare to do anything to you when you’re with me. Get up and let’s go."

"Go?" Clara blinked, caught off guard.

"Do you want to stay here?" Tristan said, already turning on his heel and striding toward the open doorway.

Hesitant but relieved that she was not going to be abandoned to the wolves, Clara scrambled to her feet and followed him out of the station. Thanks to Tristan's influence and commanding presence, no one in the precinct dared to stop them or ask any questions. They walked through the front doors, leaving the suffocating atmosphere of the police station behind.

The crisp night air hit her face as they stepped outside. When they finally reached the dimly lit parking lot, the silence between them stretched tight. Clara kept her head down, still processing the chaotic whirlwind of being fired, nearly jailed, and suddenly rescued.

Tristan stopped mid-stride. He suddenly turned around to face her under the flickering streetlamp, taking in her wretched, wine-soaked appearance, and laughed at her.