The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom. Serena lifted her head and saw a tall, lean silhouette blurred behind the frosted glass.
After a moment, she grabbed the robe beside her and loosely draped it over her shoulders. Her bare feet padded softly across the floor as she leaned against the bathroom doorway and said, her voice light, “So… you’re heading out already?”
Adrian had just finished showering. He shut off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist, and glanced at her without offering a word.
Serena let out a small laugh and flicked her long hair back. “Makes sense. It *is* your engagement night after all. Staying here would look pretty bad, right? Though I’m kinda curious if Miss Ashford would mind…”
His steps halted. He lowered his gaze toward her, impatience sharp in his eyes. “Do yourself a favor and behave. Don’t go looking for trouble.”
Serena froze for a beat, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “In your eyes, this is me *not* behaving? Then why not just let me go?”
“Let you go? Funny.”
He stared at her, a cold smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. “Did Luna ever beg you to let her go back then? And what did you do? Hmm?”
He raised an arm, caging her between himself and the doorframe. His voice dropped, icy enough to sting. “Serena Montgomery, you haven’t even started paying for what you did. Don’t think so highly of yourself.”
She’d heard variations of this line countless times, yet every single time it still slammed into her chest like a brick. Her teeth dug into her lip; her shoulders trembled. The fingertips gripping the frame slowly turned bone white.
When Serena finally snapped back to herself, Adrian was already gone.
Five years. Five long years of paying for her past cruelty—cutting ties with friends and family, shutting herself inside the tiny apartment Luna Whitmore used to live in, barely fifty square meters. Like some stray mutt waiting for scraps, she endured Adrian’s occasional visits.
He called it redemption.
She suddenly felt exhausted—utterly drained.
Almost on instinct, her eyes drifted to the fruit knife on the coffee table.
She hesitated, then walked toward it and picked it up. The blade shimmered faintly, reflecting a young, beautiful face drained of all color.
If she still owed a debt… maybe her life could settle it.
After a long moment, she returned to the bed. She lay down exactly where Adrian had been moments earlier, inhaling the last trace of his warm, woodsy scent. Pretending—just for a second—that she was curled up in his arms. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Adrian Blackwood… you never believed I loved you…”
The room was so quiet it hurt.
She clutched the blanket tightly. The pristine white fabric slowly soaked in a deep, startling red. Strangely, a lightness spread through her chest.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
Serena woke up in a VIP ward, the sharp smell of disinfectant hanging in the air. Thick gauze wrapped around her wrist, and the cold drip slid through the tube into her thin vein.
She frowned a little. Even doing that hadn’t killed her. What a ridiculous, cheap life she had.
The door clicked open, and Adrian walked in just in time to see her like this.
Her skin looked so pale it was almost see‑through, her lips drained of any color, her eyes shut tight. No movement, no spark—just lying there like some discarded doll that had been snapped in half.
If not for the faint rise and fall of her breathing, he might’ve really thought she was gone.