The Billionaire's Dilemma

Chapter 4: Morgan

Chapter 4: Morgan

As I turned around the corner of the street from her house, it was like my brain finally switched back on.

I am an idiot.

A complete buffoon.

I had gone to that house to finally put an end to all the misery me and my family had faced. The revenge I had longed to take against the people who destroyed me was in abeyance for a long, long time. And today was the perfect day to be done with it.

Why did I save her?!

My mind began counting scenarios how things would have been different if I had just walked back out of the bathroom. She would be dead, and I wouldn't have been the killer. I could have lived guilt free. Or what if I had never seen that article in the newspaper in the first place. I wouldn't have come here and whatever was to happen would have happened.

My shock was unparalleled when I saw the small woman crouching on the floor, and a guy dressed similar to me standing behind her. At first, all I felt was confusion. We were both dressed so similar, for a moment I had an identity crisis if I was actually a part of a team. But my second thought brushed the first one aside and made me hesitate to act as if they were together, which would be a huge disadvantage to me as I was unprepared to face two people.

I remembered the way she had looked up from her position at me, her tear-tracks visible even though it seemed that she just came out of a bath. As soon as she noticed me, she put her head down and sobbed softly. If they were together, she wouldn't be shaking like a lone leaf in a tornado.

It was exactly at that time that my body got possessed. It was like I was seeing red. Anger had boiled in me, and in that moment, I was no different than a ticking time bomb. The attacker had become my prime focus. The person wanted to hurt a woman, and I reacted out of pure impulse. I had kicked him, punched him, thrown him here and there and what not. It surprised me how fast he had run off even after all that.

Pain travelled up my wrist all the way to my shoulder as I punched the wall beside me, hoping to alleviate the throbbing in my head. As I grunted and cradled my hand close to me, common sense finally kicked in.

I am so stupid, honest to God.

Then when the attacker was gone, and she was clutching her ankle...something stopped me from approaching her with the intention of causing harm. I cursed my conscience for being there with me even when I was about to commit an unforgivable crime. I hated the fact that I could not see someone injure a woman. As a former police officer, I had seen a lot of cases of women being victims of domestic and workplace violence. I hated it to a core.

What an irony that I was about to hurt a woman myself when I came here.

My case was different, though.

Thinking back to when she was in the room, I just wanted to help. She looked fragile and petrified. But staying would mean a lot of problems for me. All I could do was help her call the police. I wasn't afraid of being caught, I had taken all necessary protection to hide my identity. Gloves, padded shoes, cap, mask, and common black clothes. No identifiable accessories completed my look.

I tipped my hat a bit further down my face and looked away as a couple of police vehicles passed me by, illuminating the damp road with their red and blue lights. I turned around to look in the general direction of where I knew they were going when a slight breeze chilled me to my core. I crossed my arms and exhaled in my mask so that my face could get some warmth.

Why is it so cold, for Christ's sake—wait.

With horror, I realized what was wrong.

I had left my jacket on her.