Chapter 9

Calvin closed his eyes in his office chair. The lights in the office were still brightly lit, but his head felt heavy. Somehow, his thoughts had been drifting more and more often without permission. He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out.

Yet the memory still came.

That night, the rain was pouring heavily. Calvin came home late, his steps unsteady. The smell of alcohol clung strongly to his body. As soon as the front door opened, Camelia immediately stood up from the sofa.

“Calvin?” Her voice trembled. “You drank again?”

Calvin didn’t answer. He kicked off his shoes carelessly, then took a few steps before his body swayed. Camelia reflexively grabbed his arm.

“Don’t touch me,” Calvin growled as he brushed her hand away, though his strength didn’t match his words.

Camelia didn’t step back. Her face turned pale. “You’re very cold. Have you taken your medicine?”

“Annoying,” Calvin replied. He rubbed his temple. His breathing was heavy, his forehead starting to sweat.

Camelia looked at him in panic. Her hands trembled as she touched Calvin’s forehead. “Your illness is acting up,” she said, almost crying. “Why are you always so stubborn?”

“Don’t act like you know everything,” Calvin snapped. “You’re like a child. Noisy, panicking, useless.”

Those words should have hurt. But Camelia didn’t retreat. Her eyes only grew wetter.

She suddenly hugged Calvin tightly from the front. Her body was small, but her embrace was warm and full of fear.

“Don’t die,” she said in a trembling voice. “I don’t want you to die.”

Calvin was startled. His hands reflexively lifted, wanting to push her away, but Camelia held on even tighter. Her head rested against his chest.

“I haven’t succeeded in making you fall in love with me yet,” Camelia continued softly. “If you die now, I lose.”

The sentence sounded ridiculous. But her voice was sincere. Calvin froze for a few seconds.

“Let go,” he finally said.

Camelia obeyed. She stepped back half a step, looking at Calvin with reddened eyes and a flushed nose. Her lips puckered, her face sulking like a child who had just been scolded.

“You’re cruel,” she murmured softly.

Calvin didn’t respond. He turned around and walked toward the bedroom with heavy steps. Every step felt like dragging a burden.

Camelia watched his back for a moment, then jogged lightly toward the kitchen.

A few minutes later, the aroma of warm porridge spread through the house.

Camelia stood in the kitchen wearing a simple apron. Her hands skillfully stirred the porridge in a small pot. Occasionally, she blew away the hot steam rising toward her face.

“Just a little longer,” she murmured to herself.

She poured the porridge into a bowl, added a little salt, then took a spoon. After making sure the temperature was right, she carried the bowl into the bedroom.

Calvin was already lying on the bed, his eyes closed, his breathing still irregular.

Camelia sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “Calvin,” she called softly.

There was no answer.

She sighed, then scooped a little porridge and brought it to Calvin’s lips. “Eat first,” she said gently. “You can take your medicine afterward.”

Calvin opened his eyes halfway. “I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat,” Camelia replied. “Just a little.”

“Stubborn,” Calvin muttered.

Camelia smiled faintly. “I’m already used to being called stubborn by you.”

She fed him slowly. Calvin resisted at first, but eventually opened his mouth. The warm porridge went in, making his throat feel more comfortable.

Camelia fed him patiently. Every time the porridge almost spilled, she immediately wiped it with a tissue. Her movements were gentle, full of care.

“Aren’t you tired?” Calvin suddenly asked.

Camelia shook her head. “No.”

“That’s a lie,” Calvin said.

Camelia let out a small laugh. “A little tired, but it’s fine.”

After the bowl was empty, Camelia helped Calvin take his medicine. She waited until Calvin truly swallowed it.

“Go to sleep,” Camelia said. “I’m here.”

Calvin looked at her for a few seconds. “Sleep on the sofa.”

Camelia fell silent for a moment. Then she nodded. “Alright.”

There was no protest. No sad expression. She stood up, cleaned up the bowl, then left the room.

A few minutes later, the bedroom light dimmed. Calvin closed his eyes. Outside, the rain was still falling.

The memory stopped there.

Calvin opened his eyes again in his office. His chest felt tight.

“Damn,” he muttered.

He leaned his head back against the chair. “Why do I keep remembering unimportant things?”

But his heart knew that was a lie.

He had grown used to Camelia. To her excessive panic. To her sudden hugs. To her clingy behavior that never responded to his cruelty with anger.

He rubbed his face roughly.

“Used to it,” he said softly. “I’m just used to it.”

His phone vibrated again. This time, Ronal entered the room.

“Young Master,” Ronal said carefully. “We received news. Someone saw Madam outside the city.”

Calvin immediately straightened up. “Where?”

“Not confirmed yet,” Ronal replied. “We’re still investigating.”

“Search faster,” Calvin ordered. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Ronal left. Calvin stood and walked toward the window. His hands clenched into fists.

“No matter how far you run,” he murmured coldly, “I will find you, Camelia.”