A Rainy Night Reunion at My Noodle Cart Chapter 07

A Rainy Night Reunion at My Noodle Cart Chapter 07

It was our break time, and there were no customers.

The owner had gone out to restock, leaving me alone to mind the shop.

Lila walked in wearing understated designer clothes and smiled like we were old friends.

“Sis, fancy seeing you again.”

She’d kept herself immaculate, and after six years, her face barely showed any trace of time.

Beside her was a little marshmallow of a boy, and in his brows and eyes I could still see Cameron’s shadow.

A chill ran down my spine, and I asked her flatly what she wanted.

Lila casually tucked her hair behind her ear, leaned close, and spoke against my ear in a soft voice laced with something rotten.

“I can’t believe you’re still alive after six years.”

“Why are you back trying to seduce Cameron again?” she whispered. “Are you that desperate for a man?”

I stepped back and stared at her through clenched teeth.

“Lila, Cameron and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.”

“He’s the one who won’t stop bothering me.”

“Leave,” I said. “You’re not welcome here.”

Lila’s mouth curved.

“Oh, really?”

Her son suddenly charged at me and rammed his head into my stomach.

I instinctively lifted a hand to block, but before I even touched him, the boy toppled over and started wailing.

In the same second, Lila threw on a panicked expression and rushed over.

When she got close, she grabbed my hand, then yanked it into her own face and hit herself hard.

I stared at them in horror, and I hadn’t even gotten a word out when a swarm of reporters with cameras surged into the shop.

Shutters snapped nonstop, and the lenses locked onto my frantic face.

Lila dropped to her knees and clutched her son, sobbing with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Sis, even if you hate that Cameron married me, you can’t bully us like this,” she cried. “How could you lay a hand on a child?” she sobbed. “He’s only six. He doesn’t understand anything.”

“If you’re mad, take it out on me,” she pleaded. “Don’t hit my son.”

The reporters’ stares turned even colder.

I stammered, words tripping over each other.

“It wasn’t me… He fell on his own. I didn’t touch him.”

Lila sniffled, hauled her son up, and cried as she walked toward the door.

“Sis, from now on my son and I will take a different way anytime we see you,” she said. “We won’t ever dare bother you again.”

The moment they left, the reporters who had appeared from nowhere also filed out fast.

Everything happened so quickly it felt like a dream.

When it finally clicked, I understood why Lila had come.

She wanted footage, and she wanted a story.

Sure enough, that night a video of me “beating” Lila and her son shot to the top of the trending list, #ExWifeAttacksWomanAndChild#.

The media dug up more old dirt about me, posted the address of where I worked, and even leaked my daughter’s school and which class she was in.

People exploded online and tore into me.

[Can an ex-wife just disappear after a divorce? Why butt into someone else’s marriage?]

[No shame at all. #MistressAttacksWife#. What is wrong with this world?]

[I know her. She’s the server at that little fried-chicken place—pretty and always polite. How did she turn out this rotten?]

Even Cameron bombarded me with furious messages, demanding to know what I thought I was doing.

That helpless terror came rushing back like a tide.

With shaking hands, I called the owner and asked for the security footage.

His voice was thick with helplessness.

“Ava,” he said, “the cameras broke two days ago, and I should’ve fixed them right away.”

After I hung up, I sank into a chair, completely drained, my heart turning to ash.

It was always like this.

Faced with these tricks, I never had any way to fight back.

In my mind, Lila’s smug smile surfaced again, laughing at how weak and useless I was.

My daughter climbed close and gently wiped the tears off my face.

“Mommy,” she whispered, “don’t cry.”

I smiled and patted her head.

For the next two days, my daughter and I didn’t leave the apartment.

All I wanted was to survive the blast wave of public outrage until it died down.

On the third day, Finn called.

His voice was steady like always, only threaded with a little fatigue.

“It’s over, Ava,” he said. “I released all the evidence.”

“With me here,” he added, “you don’t have to be afraid.”