Chapter 2

At the reunion, Adrian drank far more than usual.

Hannah helped him to a private room upstairs.

She wiped his face with a towel, one arm around him as she leaned closer in the dim light.

I had always known this moment would come. I still could not bear to watch it.

Smack.

A sharp slap cut through the room.

I turned back. A red handprint was already blooming across Hannah's cheek.

Hannah was still stunned, but Adrian looked instantly sober.

He pressed his lips together.

"I'm sorry. I was half asleep. I didn't realize it was you."

Resentment flashed across Hannah's face. "You still haven't forgotten her... have you?"

"No!"

Adrian cut Hannah off before she could finish.

Seeing that Hannah was hurt, Adrian sighed.

"All I feel for her now is hate."

Adrian reached for Hannah's hand. "After you saved my life, I thought I finally understood what you meant to me."

Hannah went still; something unreadable passed through her eyes.

Adrian did not notice. He continued, "It's just that I still can't accept..."

"I'll sleep in the guest room."

With that, he got up and left.

As Adrian walked out, I glanced back.

Hannah's lips moved without sound, her expression hardening into naked hatred.

I made out the name she mouthed.

Grace Carter.

As soon as Adrian reached the guest room, one of his subordinates called.

"Boss, George Carter is showing signs of mental instability. Should we bring in a therapist?"

Adrian let out a humorless laugh.

"This? It's nothing compared with what that father and daughter did to me."

"What about the Hayes family I asked you to investigate?"

The subordinate answered at once.

"The Hayes family emigrated five years ago. All we know is that the Hayes and Carter families go way back. Their children grew up together. They were childhood friends."

"Enough."

Adrian cut the subordinate off.

"So you're saying Grace Carter went abroad with the Hayes family?"

"That is what we've found so far."

Adrian's grip tightened around the phone.

"Find a way to bring the Hayes family back. I don't care how you do it."

I shook my head, though no one could see me.

Even if the Hayes family came back, he still would not be able to find me.

Back then, I had never gone abroad with Ethan Hayes.

Nor had I entered into another mate bond with him.

Late that night, Adrian tossed and turned in bed.

Out of habit, I sat down beside him, wanting to coax him to sleep.

I reached out to pat his back, only to remember that I could no longer touch him.

Adrian had always been a light sleeper, prone to long bouts of insomnia. After his inner wolf was injured, it became much worse.

When we were together, I would hold him whenever he could not sleep, rub his back, and murmur to him until his breathing slowed.

Only when his head was resting on my arm could he sleep in peace.

I never told him that every morning, it took quite a while before I could feel my arm again.

Back then, even hardship had felt bearable as long as we were together.

In the middle of the night, Adrian quietly left.

As I recognized the route, something inside me tightened.

It was our old home.

Why was he going there?

Against my better judgment, hope stirred in me.

Maybe he still had a place for me in his heart.

Maybe he still held on to some part of our past.

The car stopped in a suburban neighborhood.

Five years ago, he and I had lived in a tiny one-bedroom house.

One bedroom, one living room, and a single bed that barely fit the two of us.

Back then, he would hold me close and ask the same question over and over. "Was it worth it? Living like this just to be with me?"

Every time, I would pinch his nose and give him the same answer.

"Yes. More than worth it."

Adrian sat in the car for a long time.

He looked at the house where we had lived for three years, his expression shifting through emotions I could no longer name.

At last, he opened the car door.

The lock had rusted, but one hard push was enough to break it. Dust rose in the narrow entryway. The air smelled of damp wood and old fabric. Almost everything valuable had been taken, yet the small things no one wanted were still there.

Adrian stood motionless.

On the inside of the kitchen cabinet, a yellowed piece of paper was still taped crookedly to the wood.

7 a.m. - medicine.

Noon - call the hospital.

6 p.m. - check his temperature.

Midnight - wolf suppressant.

My handwriting.

Adrian's fingers stopped just short of the paper.

Five years ago, the injury to his inner wolf had left his body dangerously unstable. Some nights he burned with fever. On others, the wolf in him pressed close to the surface, frightened and half-mad with pain. I had been terrified too, but I never let him see it.

His gaze moved to the wall beside the bedroom door.

Four deep scratches still cut through the paint.

He stared at them.

I remembered that night. He had partially shifted in his sleep and lost control. When I tried to wake him, his claws tore across my arm and sent me crashing into the wall.

The next morning, he found blood on the sheets.

I had laughed and told him I cut myself on a broken bowl.

For the rest of that week, I wore long sleeves.

Adrian slowly raised his head.

Perhaps he remembered too.

Something shifted in his face for a second. Then he turned away as if the wall itself had offended him.

In the bedroom drawer, he found an old grocery receipt folded into quarters. Cheap bread. Milk. Instant noodles. Fever patches. His medicine.

Nothing for me.

The receipt was dated three days before I brought Ethan to the hospital and told Adrian I was tired of being poor with him.

Adrian held the receipt so tightly that the paper crumpled in his fist.

For the first time, something like confusion crossed his face.

If I had already decided to leave him, why had I still been buying his medicine?

If I hated that life so much, why had I kept the treatment schedule on the cabinet?

I stood beside him, wishing I could force him to follow that doubt wherever it led.

Ask one more question, I begged silently.

Just one.

But Adrian shut the drawer.

"Enough."

He said it to the empty room, though I did not know whether he was speaking to me or to himself.

Then he walked back outside.

After a while, he lowered his head and sent Hannah a message.

"I'll forget her."

After sending it, he walked a few steps away from the house and made a call.

A sense of dread settled over me.

With a soft click, a flame cut through the darkness.

Adrian raised the lighter, and restless shadows moved across his face.

No.

Please, no.

I screamed silently.

He could not do this.

He could not destroy all our memories so easily.

Ten minutes later, a car drove into the neighborhood, and several men got out.

Adrian lifted his head. His expression was cold and empty.

He said only one word.

"Burn it."

The flames rose with the wind and quickly swallowed the little house.

Adrian began to laugh.

He laughed so hard he could barely stand.

After a long while, he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and murmured to himself.

"Grace Carter, this time, I'm really letting go."

He had just turned to leave when a hunched figure came running through the firelight.

Dread hit me all at once.

It was my grandmother.