Late Love, Empty Hands

I was woken by my brother Ivan Goldsmith's labored, uneasy breathing.

Opening my eyes, I saw the familiar room. I couldn't see any wedding decorations or smell any fragrance in the air.

I had been reborn. Shock and joy made my head spin.

"Iris, hand me a glass of water."

Ivan's low, hoarse voice came from the next room, making me flinch.

I glanced at the watch on my wrist, and a thin layer of sweat broke out across my back.

I had been reborn on the very night Ivan had come to deliver the drug.

Thinking of this, I wanted to run and get as far away from Ivan as possible.

But before I could even slip on my shoes, he was already standing at my door.

"Iris, I've already called Vicky. You'll drive to pick her up now."

Even though the drugs had intensified his desire, I still noticed the vigilance and disgust in his eyes.

A sudden thought rose in my mind.

Ivan had been reborn, too.

I nodded hastily, grabbed the car keys, and slipped past him sideways, moving quickly toward the door.

As I stepped out of the villa, I could still feel Ivan's piercing gaze drilling into my back uncomfortably.

The address Ivan had given me was an apartment near his company.

So he and Vicky Wright had been living together this early on? His words about how I had ruined his love life were true.

When Vicky saw my car, she yanked open the passenger door and slid in.

"How's Ivan now?"

She looked anxious. Maybe it was just my imagination, but there seemed to be a glimmer of satisfied excitement in her eyes.

"You'll find out when we get there."

I didn't want to talk to her. It wasn't out of jealousy, but because both my mom and I didn't like her.

Vicky was from a poor family, and my family had sponsored her studies.

At first, my parents liked her. She was diligent, ambitious, and at the top of her class.

She had been the top scorer of the university entrance exam in my city. My parents personally drove her to her new university.

Mom was thrilled because Vicky was a year older and could tutor me through my final year of high school. Vicky took her role seriously, reporting my progress to my dad after every session.

Even when I told her that my studies were fully managed by Mom, she continued reporting to him instead.

I had always sensed a sharp, calculating glint in her eyes, but I thought I was just being sensitive.

This went on until the night a drunk man harassed her. Crying, she called Dad. When he rushed over, she threw herself into his arms, scaring him so badly that he turned pale and raised both of his hands high.

Mom saw this as she arrived after having parked her car nearby.

Vicky explained through tears that she had treated Dad as a father figure and had done what she did out of panic.