They kissed with a blazing intensity, a fire hot enough to melt the falling snow.
I couldn't bear to watch another second. Stumbling, I retreated to the room, climbed onto the bed, and curled into a tight ball.
Some time later, Zion returned.
He reached out and pulled me into his arms, but his embrace offered no comfort—only a chilling void that seeped into my bones. Fear gnawed at me.
In that moment, I finally understood the true meaning of sharing a bed but dreaming different dreams.
I lay awake the entire night. Zion slept soundly. The next morning, he hurried out before the sun had fully risen.
Moments later, my phone buzzed.
Sorry, Rose. The company suddenly ordered me to work overtime out of town. If I don't go, I'll be fired.
Stay home and be good. When I get back, I'll take you out for a nice meal.
I stared at the screen. The words were patronizing, the kind used to coax a naive child. A bitter smile tugged at my lips.
In the past, I would have believed him without hesitation. I would have worried about his health, thinking how hard he worked for us.
Now, I realized just how stupid I had been.
The afternoon dragged on in silence until a sharp knock shattered the quiet.
Lydia stood at the door.
I wasn't surprised. The way she had looked at me last night—triumphant, cruel—had been a silent promise. I had been waiting for this.
"Look at this dump," she sneered, her gaze sweeping over the shabby rental. "You would have been better off dying five years ago."
"What do you mean?" My voice trembled. "What did I do to deserve this?"
Only then did she meet my eyes. The gleam of a victor.
"Actually, you didn't do anything wrong," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "It's simply because Zion doesn't love you. That's all."
"Then why did he come looking for me? Why—" I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Despite everything, a desperate part of me still clung to hope.
"Maybe for fun?" Her smile widened. She pulled out her phone. "Watch this."
A grainy video from five years ago. Me and Lydia at the corner of a staircase.
Her voice, sharp: "You didn't have money to study, so I funded your tuition. You couldn't find a job, so I recruited you into the company."
My past self, agitated: "You said you were my benefactor—so why did you steal my husband?"
Lydia, chillingly calm: "That I can steal Zion away just proves my ability. I want to live the life of a rich wife—what's wrong with that?"
Then the video took a violent turn. Lydia produced a fruit knife and slashed her own palm. She staggered back, feigning a fall, bursting into theatrical sobs.
Seconds later, Zion rushed in. Lydia pointed at me, screaming that I had tried to kill her.
Before I could speak, Zion slapped me across the face.
"You vicious woman!" he roared. "I truly misjudged you! For hurting Lydia, I will make you pay a thousandfold!"
The video ended.
Strength left my legs. I slumped to the floor.
Lydia stood over me, narrating with glee how she had systematically stolen Zion away. Every manipulation. Every lie that led him to hate me while doting on her.
One betrayal after another.
My entire body trembled.
"Rose," she said, cold and final. "Compared to me, you never stood a chance."
She turned on her heel, the click-clack of her heels fading down the hallway.
I sat alone, tears streaming until there were none left. My heart, finally and completely, died.
Slowly, I stood. I packed my few belongings into a cheap woven sack.
Without looking back, I walked out into the wind and snow.
I don't need this pitiful excuse for love.
At that same moment, Zion Gilbert was in the bath when a sudden, inexplicable dread washed over him. Not a fleeting thought—a physical reaction. A sharp chill down his spine, mimicking the exact despair he'd felt five years ago.
The day he lost Rose Henson.
Driven by instinct, he grabbed his phone and dialed her number.
