Live Flesh

"Helena..."

"Helena..."

"Helena, Helena..."

In moments of passion and confusion, Morgan Byron always liked to call out all her names—her pet name, her formal name, and the special one he gave her just for her.

And there was a particular order in which these names were called.

At the very last moment of joy, he would whisper softly into her ear, "Helena, my Helena."

"Mm." Every sound had its echo, every sentence its reply.

Juliet Wagner, with her long, slender arms, hooked around his neck and slowly opened her eyes. "Brother, I'm here."

She could feel the man's trembling, and as his hot, soft lips pressed against hers, a salty tear seeped into her mouth.

As the passion faded, his body cooled from scorching to normal, and then he rolled off Juliet Wagner and walked into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the air. Juliet Wagner picked up a robe from the floor and draped it over herself, then walked to the balcony and casually grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table.

But she could only take one out and smell it; she couldn't smoke yet.

She could only smoke after Morgan Byron left.

Because his Helena didn't smoke.

The cold winter wind howled past her ears, instantly cooling the lingering heat in her body.

The bathroom door opened, and she quickly put down the cigarette and went back inside.

When she helped him dress with her icy hands, he looked down at her, satisfied.

He liked her this way.

Because his Helena, who had suffered from a blood disorder since childhood, always had cold fingers.

She struggled to button his slippery shirt with her stiff, frozen fingers, finally managing to fasten them.

Then, she found his tie and stood on tiptoe to help him put it on.

Finally, she leaned softly against the doorframe, watching him leave.

His Helena always liked to lean against something, as if she had no bones.

Although Morgan Byron's gaze no longer held any emotion.

He was already awake, but she was still in the act.

Just as he stepped out the door, he suddenly stopped and called her name.

"Juliet Wagner."

She knew her part for today was over and immediately straightened up, responding obediently, "Mr. Byron, I'm here."

He handed her his phone and showed her a picture.

In the photo was a young girl. Seeing the familiar face, Juliet Wagner suddenly felt like she was waking from a dream.

Oh, it had been three years. It was time for a change.

His Helena had passed away at eighteen, so these stand-ins couldn't grow up either.

Yes, there were more than just Juliet Wagner as stand-ins.

For example, Emma's nose resembled Helena's, Ada's mouth was exactly like Helena's, Lisa's figure was very similar to Helena's, and even Sandra, who was always sick, was a leukemia patient. It was said that when she was on life support, Morgan Byron would stand outside the ICU window all night, watching over her.

Once she woke up and gradually recovered, he would disappear immediately.

Because Lisa later received a bone marrow transplant and would eventually recover.

But Helena wouldn't.

She forever remained in the summer of her eighteenth year.

In Morgan Byron's heart.

After carefully examining the photo, Juliet Wagner gave her evaluation, "This is the girl who looks most like her."

"I think so too," Morgan Byron said, his brows relaxing and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Like an ice sculpture that never melted, now showing signs of thawing in the spring breeze.

"Mr. Byron, what do you need me to do?" She handed the phone back to him with both hands.

"Tell them all to go. You know them best, so you can handle it." He handed her a checkbook. "The stamps are already on, they can fill in the amounts themselves."

"Alright." She accepted it gladly.

As one of the stand-ins, the only difference between her and the others was that she also had another role: Morgan Byron's personal secretary.

During the day, she was the meticulous and efficient Ms Wagner.

At night, she was his Helena.