Owned By Mistake

Because of what he heard, Elijah smiled and gently patted Cherry's head. "I'm so proud of you, Cherry,"

Cherry blinked in surprise, a little thrown off by the way he touched her like she was still a child. She was already twenty, but Elijah still saw her the same way he had back in Paco. Still, her heart softened.

"Thank you, Doc Elijah," she said, smiling back at him.

"I'll go ahead. Let's meet up sometime when I'm free. I want to see Luke too."

Cherry nodded. "Okay. He'll be happy to see you."

She watched his back as he walked away, her chest tightening at the memory of Paco , and the horrors she'd buried. One particular night still haunted her. Her mother had come home furious after losing a bet. She asked for money, and when Cherry had none, the beatings started again.

That night, Cherry tried to shield her little brother from their mother's anger. But Luke still ended up getting hit in the head with a stick. He bled so much she thought he wouldn't survive. That was when Elijah came into their lives. He treated Luke, paid for everything, and never asked for anything in return.

All he said was, "Study hard, that's all the payment I'll ever need."

Since then, Cherry had worked day and night to keep that promise. She admired Elijah not just out of gratitude. As a woman, she respected him deeply. He was the kind of man she once dreamed of ending up with.

Lost in her thoughts, Cherry didn't notice that someone had been watching her the whole time.

Eros Smith, a resident doctor at Manila South Medical Hospital, had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall, watching the petite woman from afar.

"That's the little kitten you were talking about, huh?" Eros said with a teasing smirk.

Gilbert stood beside him, holding a small paper bag with the ointment and ice pack the doctor had prescribed. His expression was hard, unreadable , but his eyes never left Cherry.

"You like that girl?" Eros asked, still grinning.

"No," Gilbert replied coldly.

His answer was quick. Too quick.

He had only stepped out to buy her medicine. Barely a few minutes. And yet, when he came back, she was already smiling up at another man. Talking like they'd known each other for years. And worse , her eyes had followed that guy as he walked away.

Gilbert didn't know what irritated him more , the way she smiled at that man, or the dull ache in his chest that refused to go away.

He wasn't supposed to care. Not about her. Not like this.

And yet... here he was. Staring. Watching. Fuming.

Eros looked at him sideways and chuckled. "You sure you don't like her? Because you look like you're about to kill someone."

Gilbert didn't answer.

He just turned around, walked toward the girl sitting on the bench, and shoved the medicine bag into her hands.

"Here," he said flatly.

Cherry looked up in surprise. "T-Thank you,"

Gilbert didn't say anything. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes on her , like he was trying to figure out if she was still the same girl who used to cry in front of him.

But deep down, he already knew.

She wasn't.

And maybe that's what scared him the most.

Inside the car, silence settled between them like a thick fog. The hum of the engine was the only sound as the driver pulled away from the hospital.

Cherry sat quietly, pressed against the window, clutching the plastic bag in her lap. Her fingers trembled slightly as they held the ointment. She didn't dare look at Gilbert. Not when the air between them felt so heavy.

She couldn't understand it, he was the one who helped her. He defended her, even made Olivia apologize. But now, he was acting like she had personally wronged him.

Was it because of Elijah?

Cherry frowned and peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He wasn't looking at her. His jaw was clenched, brows drawn, and he stared out the opposite window like he was trying not to speak.

She bit her lip. "Mister.. Ace Carter," she said softly.

Gilbert didn't respond.

Cherry gathered her courage. "D-Did I do something wrong again?"

The man finally turned to her, his eyes sharp and unreadable. "Do I look like I care what you do?"

The coldness in his voice made Cherry's chest tighten. She stared down at the bag in her lap, blinking quickly to stop the tears from rising.

"I just wanted to thank you... properly," she whispered, voice barely audible. "For helping me. At the restaurant. At the hospital. I didn't expect you to do any of that."

Gilbert didn't say anything at first. His fingers tapped lightly on his knee, his mind clearly somewhere else. Finally, he spoke.

"I told you before. I was just disciplining Olivia."

"But you still bought me medicine," Cherry said quietly. "You didn't have to do that."

Gilbert looked at her then, and his stare was intense.

"You looked pathetic," he said bluntly.

Cherry's throat tightened. She gave a small nod, accepting the insult. She knew she looked pathetic. Beaten up, clothes torn, and crying in the middle of a fast-food restaurant. Anyone would have pitied her.

But there was something in Gilbert's voice, something that didn't match his words. He said she looked pathetic, but his gaze didn't feel like disgust. It felt... conflicted.

Cherry clutched the medicine tighter.

"I'm used to it," she murmured. "People looking at me like I'm pitiful. I just don't want you to think I'm... I'm someone who takes advantage of people's kindness."

Gilbert's jaw tightened again. He didn't answer, but his hand reached over suddenly and grabbed the ointment from her lap. Cherry jumped slightly in surprise.

Without a word, he unscrewed the cap and pulled her arm gently but firmly toward him.

"W-What are you doing?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"Sit still," he said. "The doctor said to apply it immediately."

His voice was still cold, but his touch was careful.

Cherry sat frozen as Gilbert dabbed a bit of ointment on the darkest bruise on her wrist. It stung slightly, but what made her heart race was the quiet way he did it, focused, steady, and strangely gentle for a man like him.

He didn't say anything more. He just applied the medicine, capped it again, then handed it back to her.

"There," he said flatly.

"T-Thank you..." Cherry murmured, unsure what else to say.

The car stopped. They were in front of her boarding house.

Gilbert opened the door for her and stepped out, not even waiting for her to move first. Cherry scrambled after him.

She stepped out of the car, clutching the medicine and her broken phone. Before walking to her building, she turned back to him.

"I'm sorry... if I made you upset earlier."

Gilbert paused mid-step, not turning around. "Just be careful next time. And stop crying so much. It's annoying."

Then he got in the car and shut the door behind him.

Cherry watched the car drive away, feeling a strange ache settle in her chest. His words weren't kind, but he had shown her more care in the past twenty-four hours than most people ever had.

And for the first time in a long while, she wasn't sure what scared her more, that she might be falling for someone like Gilbert Ace Carter or that he might already be falling for her, too.

Cherry's body stiffened the moment she heard the lock click.

She blinked in confusion, unsure if she had heard him right. "W-What...?"

Gilbert leaned forward, eyes narrowed, not with lust, but frustration. "I told you to remove your jacket. Your wounds are still bleeding underneath, and you're not doing anything about it."

Her breath caught.

That was what he meant?

Cherry slowly glanced down. The white jacket she had thrown over herself had small, faint red spots, blood from the scratches and welts she'd gotten earlier. In her nervous state, she hadn't even noticed.

"I, I'm fine," she said softly, clutching the fabric at her collar.

"Fine?" Gilbert's tone was flat, eyes burning as he looked at her. "You're walking around with bruises and dried blood. You're not fine."

Cherry's lips trembled. She didn't know if she wanted to cry, scream, or apologize. He confused her more than anything. Just when she thought she understood him, he'd twist things around again.

"Why do you care?" she whispered.

The moment the words left her mouth, silence filled the car.

Gilbert looked away. His jaw clenched as he leaned back against the leather seat, his hands curling into fists on his lap.

"I don't," he finally said, voice low and tight. "I just don't want someone like you collapsing in public again and making it my problem."

Cherry's chest ached at his words, but somehow, she didn't believe him.

"I didn't ask you to bring me to the hospital."

"No. You just stood there like a punching bag," Gilbert snapped. "Like you've given up. Is that what you want?"

His voice made her eyes well up again.

"No," she said quietly, "but I also didn't ask to be saved."

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the air between them became heavy with everything left unsaid, gratitude, resentment, and confusion.

Gilbert leaned forward again, his voice quieter now. "Then take care of yourself properly."

Cherry swallowed and slowly nodded. With trembling fingers, she pulled off her jacket, revealing the thin shirt underneath and the red welts that ran across her arms and near her shoulders.

Gilbert's gaze dropped to them, his face tightening again, not with desire, but with a quiet fury.

He reached into the paper bag, pulled out the ointment, and without a word, squeezed some onto his fingers.

"I can do it myself," Cherry mumbled.

"Let me."

The silence between them changed. It wasn't cold anymore. It was careful. Hesitant.

His fingers touched her arm gently, and for the first time since the attack, Cherry felt warm again.

Not safe, but not alone either.

Cherry's eyes widened in disbelief at Gilbert's order. She clutched her torn clothes tighter around herself, backing further into her seat.

Gilbert scoffed, clearly irritated. "Relax. I said take your jacket off, not strip down like a scene in a bad movie."

"I-I'm not doing that in front of you," Cherry whispered, her voice shaky as tears welled up again.

Gilbert raked a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "You're bruised all over and stubborn as hell."

He reached beside him, opened the paper bag, and pulled out the ointment. "Give me your arm."

Cherry hesitated.

"Do you want to end up with scars?" he asked flatly, but his voice had lost its earlier sharpness. "Or do you want to sit here and cry while your wounds get infected?"

With a trembling breath, Cherry slowly extended her arm. She couldn't meet his eyes.

Gilbert's touch was unexpectedly gentle, almost too gentle. He applied the ointment carefully, quietly, the way someone might handle something fragile and delicate. Like glass.

The silence between them stretched.

Then Gilbert spoke again, his tone low, unreadable. "Whatever you're imagining, stop it. I don't like you. Not that way."

Cherry blinked, stunned by his bluntness. The shame crept in again. Had he sensed her hesitation? Her confusion? Her embarrassment?

"I didn't think you did," she said quickly, voice tight.

Gilbert didn't reply.

Instead, he continued applying the ointment, methodical, distant, and cold. But his hands never once trembled.

Gilbert continued applying the ointment in silence, but he felt Cherry's whole body tense on his lap.

"Just relax," he said, his voice softer than before, though it still carried that commanding edge.

Cherry flinched slightly. Relax? She was half-lying across his thighs in a thin shirt while his hands moved over her bruised skin. How was that relaxing?

"You're stiff as a board," Gilbert muttered. With a sigh, he gently tapped her lower back, more to get her attention than anything else. "I said relax, not freeze like a corpse."

"I-I'm trying," she whispered, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

She felt his fingertips pause at her waist, then resume their careful movements. The ointment was cool against her skin, but the warmth of his palm after each touch sent an odd sensation through her, like confusion and heat all rolled into one.

"W-Is it done?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper.

Gilbert didn't answer right away.

His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed. Her skin was smooth and soft, too soft. Her body, fragile. He shouldn't be noticing these things. Not about her.

He suddenly pulled his hands away and helped her sit up, perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary, though not enough to hurt her.

"Put your shirt back on," he muttered, avoiding her eyes.

Cherry nodded quickly, gathering her long-sleeved shirt and slipping it over her head without a word.

She reached for the ointment, but Gilbert tossed it toward her lap without looking. "Apply it again tonight. You bruise too easily."

Cherry picked up the tube and held it to her chest. "I-I'll do that. Thank you,"

Gilbert's brows twitched, and for a second, he looked like he might say something, something else entirely. But instead, he turned his face toward the window, his jaw clenched, his thoughts unreadable.

"Where do you live?" Gilbert asked, his face unreadable.

Cherry hesitated, her fingers tightening around the ointment in her lap. She was still thinking about the mess she'd left at work. "T-Take me back to the restaurant, please," she said in a quiet voice.

"I told you someone already cleaned it up," Gilbert replied, a flicker of impatience creeping into his tone. "I'm not asking again. Where do you live?"

"Paco," she answered quickly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gilbert gave a curt nod and spoke to the driver, who took off without another word. The ride was silent. Cherry sat tensely in her seat, not daring to look at the man beside her.

Fifteen minutes later, the luxury car pulled up in front of an old two-story house. The paint was faded and peeling. Rusted metal and old junk were scattered near the gate. Though it had two floors, the house looked smaller than Gilbert's walk-in closet.

Gilbert frowned. "This is your boarding house?"

Cherry nodded. "Y-Yes."

"How many of you live here?"

"F-Four," she replied nervously.

Cherry couldn't help but feel stung by what Gilbert had said. Even if he meant it as a warning, or some twisted form of concern, it still felt like a slap.

"Not everyone will help you."

She'd heard that line before, but coming from him, it cut deeper than she expected.

"It won't happen again," she muttered under her breath as she walked through the rusty gate, her voice sharper than she intended. Her steps quickened. She didn't look back.

She didn't even realize she was biting the inside of her cheek until a sharp pain made her stop just inside the door. The sting brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back. That was the least of the pain she'd felt today.

She stood in the dim hallway of the boarding house, hand still on the doorknob, trying to steady her breathing. Her clothes were rumpled, her face was sore, and her pride was barely intact, but she was home. For now, that had to be enough.

And outside, in the quiet car parked at the curb, Gilbert still hadn't told his driver to move.

His eyes remained on the house.

And his jaw was clenched tight, not from anger, but from something far more complicated.