He Stole My Phone and Somehow stole me too

I didn’t mean to throw my phone at his head. I swear I didn’t. It just… happened. One second I was running after the bus I missed for the third time this week, the next second my phone slipped out of my hand, flew through the air like it was auditioning for the Olympics, and smacked straight into the back of a stranger’s head. Not just any stranger. A man who turned around like he had been summoned from the underworld. Cold eyes. Black hair. Perfect jawline. Expensive-looking coat. And the kind of face that made you want to apologize even before you did anything wrong. I froze. He bent down, picked up my phone from the ground, and stared at the screen like it personally offended him. “…Password,” he said. His voice was deep. Calm. Too calm. I blinked. “Password? For what?” “So I can check if it’s damaged.” “No—give it back, it’s my phone!” “It hit my head,” he replied. “I will check if the screen is cracked.” “What about my head?” I asked. “You’ll survive.” I gasped. Was he serious right now? “I didn’t mean to hit you,” I said. “I mean, yeah, my phone hit your skull, but it wasn’t planned. I’m not a phone criminal.” “I see.” He paused. “Password.” This man was unreal. “It’s—just give me my phone!” I reached for it, but he lifted it higher. Taller than me. Obviously. He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. Didn’t show any reaction at all. He just stared at me like I was a strange bug he found on the sidewalk. “Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll unlock it.” He held it out. I typed the password. Before I could grab it, he pulled it back again. “Hey!” He inspected it, turning it around in his hand. “The screen is fine.” “I told you—” “But the back is scratched.” I stared at the tiny scratch on the cover. “It’s been scratched since last year.” “I will replace it.” “What?! No—you don’t have to buy me a new phone!” “I will send someone.” “Send someone? Who are you, the Phone Police?” He finally looked into my eyes. Cold. Deep. unreadable. “I am Xavier Min.” “…Okay?” What was I supposed to do with that information? He must have sensed my confusion because he continued, “CEO. Min Group.” My mouth slowly fell open. Min Group. As in the big luxury-brand company? The one with the huge glass building downtown? The one with security guards who look like they eat metal for breakfast? I swallowed. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “About your head. And your billionaire pride.” Xavier blinked once. Slowly. “I don’t recall saying I was a billionaire.” “Rich men never admit it,” I muttered under my breath. He heard it. Of course he did. He stared at me like he was regretting turning around in the first place. Then he held the phone out again. But didn’t let go. “Name,” he said. “Why?” “So my assistant can contact you.” “For a scratch?!” “For a replacement.” “I don’t want a replacement!” “You do.” “No, I—” “Consider it compensation for the damage you caused.” “I didn’t damage YOU!” He touched the back of his head with two fingers. “You left a mark.” Oh my God. “Are you always like this?” I asked. “Is this your personality?” “Yes,” he answered without hesitation. I stared at him. He stared back. A small wind blew his hair perfectly to the side like the world was his personal fan. I hated how good-looking he was. It was distracting. And annoying. “My name is Hazel,” I finally said, mostly so I could grab my phone and escape. He typed something into his own phone. “Spell it.” I spelled it reluctantly. He typed faster. Then he said, “You have approximately two minutes before the next bus arrives.” I blinked. “What?” He tilted his head slightly, like he wasn’t used to explaining himself. “You were chasing it earlier,” he said. “Schedule shows the next one is coming.” “Oh… thanks?” Why did he know the bus schedule? Who checked the bus schedule for a stranger? “I’ll have my assistant contact you by tonight. Don’t ignore the message.” “For what? I told you—” “To send the replacement.” “I DON’T WANT—” He walked past me like the conversation was over. I spun around. “You can’t just—hey! Come back!” He didn’t. He slid into a black car that had been waiting. The driver bowed slightly before closing the door. The car pulled away smoothly. I stood there, wind blowing my hair into my mouth. “Why do rich people act like main characters?” I mumbled. I checked my old tablet and saw a message from an unknown number… UNKNOWN NUMBER: This is Mr. Xavier Min’s assistant. Please confirm your phone model and color. I stared at the message. Then at the sky. Then back at the message. “What have I gotten myself into…”