Chapter 7: His Rival Scoops Me Up

I owned a villa by Willowbrook Lake, a gift from my parents, finally proving useful. Upon arrival, the chauffeur offered to help me move in, but I preferred to do it alone. I sent him away and began moving boxes myself. The boxes weren't too heavy, but the constant trips up and down to the second-floor bedroom were exhausting. I was panting by the second round. As I stood before the third box, catching my breath, a surprised male voice startled me.

"Jane?" The voice was familiar. I turned, confused. Seeing the tall man in a white shirt and black pants approaching, I froze. Eric Flint? What was he doing here? Eric and I had attended the same college. He was student council president, while Jeremiah was vice president. They clashed constantly, becoming mortal enemies. Since Jeremiah disliked Eric, I'd remained distant, exchanging only polite nods despite frequent encounters. Yet, he'd been a helping hand during my lowest moments in my past life. Seeing him now, he almost seemed to radiate a savior's glow.

"So it's you. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me," he said, his gaze falling on the boxes. "What are these?"

"I'm moving," I replied truthfully.

He raised an eyebrow, teasing. "Splitting up already? What happened? Is Jeremiah kicking you out to bring his mistress in?" Eric's sharp tongue was unchanged. Jeremiah could never match his verbal sparring, which fueled Jeremiah's hatred. But his words suggested he knew about Jeremiah's scandals. Even as a bystander, he saw through Jeremiah and Elsa's relationship. Jeremiah, however, had fed me clumsy lies. Remembering my past life's deceptions, I felt pathetic.

"He didn't kick me out. I moved out, but his mistress moving in isn't far off," I exhaled. Once divorced, Elsa would surely claim my place as Jeremiah's wife.

As I bent to lift the heaviest box, a strong arm intercepted. "I'll take this. You grab the smaller one," Eric said, effortlessly hoisting the box and heading inside. Following with the smaller box, I stared at him. He lived in the villa opposite mine. In my past life, I often came here to recover from heartbreak, even encountering him several times. I didn't expect to see him again so soon.

Lost in thought, I missed a step and slipped. My body lurched forward, knees slamming into the stairs as the box flew from my grip. I gasped in pain, struggling to rise. Hearing the commotion, Eric dropped his box and rushed to help.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked, trying to lift me.

I grimaced, clutching his hand. "My knees… Give me a minute."

Without a word, Eric scooped me up and placed me on the couch. Rolling up my pant leg, we saw scraped, bleeding knees. His expression turned serious.

"Do you have any medicine?" he asked.

I shook my head. I'd just moved in. "Stay here," he said. "I'll grab some."

Eric dashed to his villa, returning with iodine and cotton swabs. He carefully disinfected my wounds. The sting made me wince. I stared at my knees, gritting my teeth. After tending the injury, he looked up. Our eyes met—his deep, ink-black gaze—and I realized how close we were, inches apart. Neither of us looked away. Our breathing intertwined; the sudden intimacy created an unspoken tension.