I know I am not the child my parents would have chosen, and I do not blame them for that. It is somehow my fault, for I could never become the person they envisioned, the source of pride they longed for. Instead, I have been a constant disappointment, always falling short of their expectations and causing them endless suffering. I tried my best in everything, striving to improve, to excel in every way they desired, but fate, for reasons beyond my understanding, never supported me. I am weak, and it is this weakness that has brought my parents such anguish. I have watched them endure the consequences of my failures, their faces etched with disappointment and sorrow. Yet, despite the absence of their love, despite the distance and the coldness, I still feel an unwavering desire to protect them. I still feel a fierce determination to shield them from harm, to spare them further pain. My heart aches with the knowledge that I am the cause of their distress. I remember the countless nights spent studying, the endless hours of practice, all in a desperate attempt to meet their expectations. But each effort seemed to fall short, and the weight of my inadequacy grew heavier with each passing day. I saw the pride they held for my siblings, the joy in their eyes when they spoke of their accomplishments, and I yearned to see that same light in their eyes for me. But it was never there. Instead, there was a void, a chasm between us that only deepened with time. I felt the sting of their disappointment, the silent reproach in their gazes, and it cut deeper than any wound. I longed to bridge that gap, to prove myself worthy of their love, but the harder I tried, the further I seemed to fall. Even now, in the midst of this crisis, my instinct is to protect them. I know they do not love me as they love my siblings, but my love for them remains steadfast. I cannot bear the thought of them being harmed, of anyone adding to their suffering. I may not be the child they wanted, but I will not stand by and let anyone hurt them. The resolve within me strengthens, and I vow to do whatever it takes to safeguard them. I will confront whatever challenges come our way, face any adversary, and endure any hardship if it means keeping them safe. For all the ways I have failed them, for all the pain I have caused, this is something I can do. This is my chance to make amends, to show them that I am not entirely a lost cause.
As I stand there, lost in my thoughts, suddenly the doorbell rings, its sound echoing through the stillness of the house. Everyone's faces light up with curiosity and confusion—who could it be at this hour? Gian, always the first to take action, urges us to follow him as he strides toward the front door. The rest of us trail behind, a mix of anticipation and unease settling in the pit of our stomachs. As soon as Gian opens the door, we are stunned into silence. Standing before us, illuminated by the bright rays of the setting sun, is none other than Christopher Hemsworth. The golden light creates a halo around him, casting an almost ethereal glow that makes him appear larger than life. His presence is commanding, a magnetic force that draws everyone's attention, leaving us breathless and wide-eyed. Christopher stands tall and imposing, his chiseled features highlighted by the sun's gentle caress. His hair, tousled by a slight breeze, glistens like strands of spun gold. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue-green, hold an intensity that is both captivating and unnerving. He exudes an air of effortless confidence, his posture relaxed yet authoritative. Behind him, about fifteen to twenty people stand in silent formation, their expressions serious and focused. They are his bodyguards and assistants, impeccably dressed and exuding a sense of unwavering loyalty and professionalism. It is clear that they are here for a purpose, and their presence only adds to the gravity of the moment. My heart races as I take in the scene before me, my mind struggling to comprehend the reality of Christopher Hemsworth standing at our doorstep. His gaze sweeps over us, pausing momentarily on each face, as if he is assessing the situation, reading our emotions. When his eyes finally meet mine, I feel a jolt of recognition and an inexplicable connection, as if he can see straight into my soul. Christopher steps forward, his movements fluid and graceful, and the sheer magnitude of his presence fills the space. The air feels charged with electricity, and an almost palpable tension hangs between us. Despite the overwhelming circumstances, there is a warmth in his eyes that offers a strange sense of comfort and reassurance. "Good evening," he says, his voice smooth and resonant, carrying an authority that demands attention. "I hope I'm not intruding. May I come in?"
For a moment, no one moves or speaks. We are all caught in the spell of his presence, our minds reeling from the surreal nature of the encounter. Finally, my father finds his voice, though it trembles slightly with disbelief. "Of course, Mr. Hemsworth. Please, come in," he stammers, stepping aside to allow Christopher and his entourage to enter. My mother, Melissa, and everyone else are standing there, shocked and unmoved. The atmosphere is thick with confusion and awe, as if we are all trying to comprehend the magnitude of what is happening. Christopher gestures for his people to stay outside. As he steps in, each movement carries a tremendous force, his presence filling the room. His deep eyes lock onto mine, and in that moment, my heart races so loudly that I fear everyone can hear it. He strides in with an air of command, every step deliberate and powerful. My father, trying to maintain a semblance of composure, gestures towards the couch. "Please, have a seat." Christopher sits down, taking his time before he speaks. The silence is almost unbearable, charged with anticipation. Finally, he breaks it with a voice that is deep and resonant, carrying a weight that demands attention. "I have something really important to discuss with you," he begins. Everyone, previously scattered in their thoughts, focuses intently on his words. My father nods, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Yes, Mr. Hemsworth. We also have some things we need to discuss with you."
Christopher's gaze sweeps across the room, his eyes briefly meeting mine before he continues. "I imagine you and your family are quite confused about what is happening and what has gone wrong," he begins, his voice strong and imbued with an intimidating authority. "This is very normal." He pauses, allowing the weight of his words to settle. The silence is thick with tension, every eye in the room fixed on him. "I once thought your family was perfect," he continues, his tone carrying a hint of irony. "There is a certain reputation you all hold among people. I never even noticed your family in the first place before I noticed Evelyn."
As he says this, his eyes lock onto mine, and I can feel the intensity of his gaze. It's as if he can see into the depths of my soul. "I saw how Evelyn was treated by Melissa and Ary," he says, his voice growing more forceful. "My bodyguard informed me of the disgraceful behavior he witnessed. I also saw how Anvir treated her." His expression hardens, disappointment etched into his features. "I am very disappointed that her parents did not notice such things," he says, his voice laden with reproach. "From now on, I will not bear anyone attempting to hurt Evelyn or defy her." The room is suffused with a palpable sense of fear. My family looks at me and then at Christopher, their expressions a mix of shock, confusion, and growing realization. Christopher stands firm, his presence commanding the room. "I intended to take similar actions against Ary," he continues, his tone unyielding. "However, before I resort to more serious measures, I want this to serve as a warning. Keep in mind that there will be consequences for any further mistreatment of Evelyn." He looks around the room, his gaze piercing each member of my family. "Remember this well," he says, his voice carrying the finality of a judge's sentence.
The tension in the room is almost unbearable. My mother's face is pale, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. Melissa looks at me, her eyes red with anger, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She is taking heavy, labored breaths, her fury palpable. I am trembling under her gaze, feeling the weight of her hatred.
Suddenly, in a fit of rage, Melissa grabs a chair near her and hurls it at me with all the strength her body can muster. Time seems to slow as I see the chair flying towards me, and a paralyzing fear grips me. I am certain I am about to be struck, bracing myself for the inevitable pain, perhaps even my demise. But in that crucial moment, Christopher moves with lightning speed. He appears in front of me, his broad back facing the oncoming chair. The wooden chair shatters against him, splintering into pieces, but he stands firm, unyielding. The impact does not even seem to register with him; it is as though the chair was nothing more than a light breeze against his formidable frame.
I am in awe, my heart pounding, as I stare at the man who has shielded me so effortlessly. His protective stance speaks volumes, conveying a promise of safety that I have never felt before. His broad shoulders seem to be able to bear any burden, his strength a testament to his unwavering resolve to protect me.
Christopher turns slightly, his eyes meeting mine with a look that reassures me. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to the chaos that just erupted. I nod, my voice caught in my throat, unable to articulate the mix of gratitude and astonishment I feel. He turns back to face my family, his presence commanding their attention once more. The room is silent, everyone too stunned to speak, their eyes flickering between the shattered chair and the man who stood unscathed.
He looks back, his eyes ablaze with a fury that seems capable of consuming the entire house. His fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white, and his presence is overwhelming, a storm of anger that chills the room. He looks like a beast, his rage palpable and terrifying. The air around him crackles with intensity, and it feels as though he could set the entire house on fire with the force of his anger alone. Melissa, struck by the sheer magnitude of his wrath, collapses to her knees. Her defiance crumbles, replaced by desperate fear. She begins to sob uncontrollably, her hands clasped in front of her as she begs for his forgiveness. Her voice is choked with terror, and her tears flow freely, pooling on the floor as she pleads.
Christopher's fierce gaze does not soften. His eyes bore into her, making her legs feel as though they can no longer support her weight. My father, in a rare show of paternal concern, steps forward and stands between them, his hands raised in a gesture of submission. "Mr. Hemsworth, please," he says, his voice trembling. "I apologize for not raising her better. We are deeply sorry." My mother, her face pale and stricken, nods fervently in agreement. "Please, forgive her," she implores, her voice breaking.
Christopher takes a moment, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he reins in his anger. His gaze flicks from my father to my mother, then back to Melissa, who is still sobbing on the floor. After what feels like an eternity, he speaks, his voice low and menacing. "Melissa will beg Evelyn for forgiveness. If Evelyn forgives her, I will let this matter rest." Melissa's face contorts with humiliation at the thought of having to beg me for forgiveness, a public acknowledgment of her wrongdoing. I can see the fury in her eyes, a promise of revenge simmering beneath her tears. But I know what I must do. For the sake of my family, I cannot let this situation escalate further.
"Melissa," I say softly, stepping forward. "I forgive you." My words are deliberate and calm, though my heart is pounding. I want to end this, to bring peace to my family, even if it means sacrificing my own pride.
Christopher's gaze shifts to me, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes softens. "I will let it slide this time," he says, his voice still firm but less harsh. "Only because Evelyn has chosen to forgive." The room is silent, the tension slowly ebbing away. Melissa's sobs quiet down, replaced by a sullen, resentful silence. My parents exchange relieved glances, their worry momentarily lifted. But as Christopher turns back to me, I feel a new wave of anxiety wash over me.
He steps closer, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart race. Without a word, he takes my hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "I have something important to tell you," he says, his voice softer now, almost gentle.
The world narrows to just the two of us. His hand around mine sends a warmth through my body, a stark contrast to the cold fear that had gripped me moments before. My heart skips a beat, and all I can think about is him—his strength, his protection, his unwavering presence. As he holds my hand, I feel a sense of safety I have never known. The chaos and tension of the evening fade into the background, leaving just the two of us in a moment that feels both timeless and profound. I nodded, my heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and an inexplicable feeling that I couldn't quite put into words. It was a good feeling, an overwhelming warmth that made my chest tighten, but I struggled to define it. His gaze remained locked on mine, his intense eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that both thrilled and bewildered me.
"I will pick you up tomorrow from your house," he continued, his voice steady but filled with an underlying tension. "I will tell you everything then." The words hung in the air, and I felt a rush of emotions—shock, happiness, and an unfamiliar anticipation. He wanted to meet me alone? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I could feel my cheeks flushing.
As I began to sink into my thoughts, imagining what the next day might bring, Christopher's voice cut through the haze. "I have to leave now for urgent matters," he said, a trace of reluctance in his tone. His eyes never left mine, and I could see a flicker of pain in their depths as he spoke. "But I will wait for you." He turned to go, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each step away from me was a struggle. My heart ached at the sight, an unfamiliar longing settling in my chest. Just before he reached the door, he paused and looked back, his expression hardening as he addressed my family. "Let this be your final warning," he said, his voice resonating with a cold, unwavering resolve. "Any further mistreatment of Evelyn will lead to your ruin. The consequences will be disastrous." His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, the gravity of his threat sinking into everyone present. My father's face paled, my mother's eyes widened in fear, and Melissa, still kneeling on the floor, seemed to shrink even further into herself. Ary, usually so defiant, was silent, her face a mask of stunned disbelief. Christopher's eyes lingered on me one last time, a promise of protection and something deeper in his gaze. Then, with a final nod, he turned and strode out of the house, his entourage following closely behind. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving the room in a heavy silence. My heart felt like it was still with him, pounding with a strange mix of fear and excitement. I couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed, that my life was no longer my own but intertwined with his in a way I couldn't yet comprehend.