Edith Frost was a rose nurtured by Earl Frost.
Countless times, she had clung to his strong frame, crying in his arms and pleading, "Earl, please love me."
She had resorted to cutting her wrists, threatening to jump off buildings, and drowning herself in severe depression just to keep him by her side.
Yet, in the end, it was Edith who ended his life with her own hands.
When Earl collapsed into a pool of blood, his eyes brimmed with disbelief. "Edith, you said you loved me."
Tears streamed down her face as Edith gently touched his cheek. "Earl, it's been ten years. Have you ever dreamed of them, even once?"
"In the dead of night, do you know what these years have been like for me?"
——
That night, when Earl stumbled home drunk, Edith locked his girlfriend out of the house.
She struggled to drag Earl onto the large bed in the master bedroom, her hands trembling as she touched and kissed him in the dark.
It was the eighth time.
The eighth time Edith had stolen a kiss from her brother in secret.
He was lost in a drunken haze. His large hands—strong and distinct—gripping her wrist as he muttered in a daze, "Edith, stop it." Edith was the name of the woman he loved.
Jealousy surged within Edith, but she swallowed it down, whispering in a trembling voice, "Earl..."
The moment his full name left her lips, a surge of forbidden excitement coursed through her, her blood pounding in her ears. Edith had never dared to call him by his full name before—not to his face.
Her lips quivered as she leaned closer to his reddened earlobe, whispering again and again, "Earl... Earl..."
Suddenly, he flipped her over, pinning her beneath him as he hugged her tightly. "Edith, be good," he murmured, his voice tender and gentle, as if soothing the woman he cherished most in the world.
His hands, warm and steady, carried the weight of a man’s love. His voice dripped with affection, but it wasn’t for her.
Of course, it wasn’t. Edith was the woman he adored.
And Edith? She was nothing more than an adopted sister, bound to him by neither blood nor love.
Ten years by his side couldn’t hold a candle to the six short months Edith had spent stealing all of his heart.
She curled up in Earl's arms, like a helpless, trembling hare.
It was unbearably hot.
Edith felt as though she was on fire, uncertain whether it was from jealousy or the heat radiating from his body.
With great effort, she stretched her hand out from under his arm and clung to him even tighter.
Earl, please don’t leave me.
The moonlight poured in softly, illuminating her delicate arms, pale as paper. The red string tied to her jade pendant glowed faintly, vivid as blood against her skin.
Earl’s breath brushed against her neck, warm and steady.
The world felt as if it had turned upside down.
His eyes fluttered open, hazy at first, but what he saw jolted him awake.
“Edith?”
Under the dim glow of the moonlight, Earl could make out the youthful, innocent face of the person beneath him.
In an instant, his muddled confusion gave way to clarity. Alarmed, he scrambled out of bed, his movements sharp and hurried.
“Why is it you?”
Fumbling, Earl reached for the light switch, his voice tinged with awkwardness and guilt.
“Sorry, I drank too much. I thought… I thought you were your sister-in-law…”
As the light flickered on, his words faltered, dying in his throat. He turned away abruptly, unable to face her.
There, standing before him in the pale light, was Edith—his 18-year-old adopted sister, standing in his room in the dead of night.
Although nothing improper had happened, their proximity, their contact, was enough to fill him with panic.
“It’s late. Why are you here?”
His voice was a mix of reprimand, discomfort, and command—an attempt. But it lacked any trace of affection.
Edith didn’t move. She stared at his turned back, her heart sinking like a shattered dream.
His avoidance, his refusal to meet her eyes, pierced her deeply.
Tears welled up quickly, blurring her vision, shimmering faintly under the harsh light. She remained motionless, her gaze fixed on him.
Earl kept his back to her, as though refusing to acknowledge her presence.
In the reflection of the window, they were a frozen tableau—a man and a woman locked in silence, their emotions unspoken but heavy in the air.
