Chapter 193

The warmth of that memory still lingered on her cheek.

Stella Valentine would never forget the light that had flashed in Adrian Roland's eyes when he'd spoken those words. He'd shot up so fast his knee hit the table corner, yet he'd kept grinning like a child with candy. "Don't lie to me."

"...Okay."

"Little Star, if I ever make you angry, you can hit me or yell at me. Just don't lie to me."

She'd blinked in confusion. "When have I ever lied?"

"I'm scared," he'd admitted, scratching his head with that boyish awkwardness. "Scared that after chasing you for so long, it'll all be for nothing."

A mountain breeze brushed her face.

Stella snapped back to the present.

Those youthful days were long gone.

"Stella?"

"Hmm?" Her lips curved automatically.

"Is the temperature okay?"

"What?"

Mr. Alistair waved the remote. "The mountain air gets chilly."

Only then did she notice the heater humming.

"It's fine."

He sat on the bed's edge, his profile sharper than days before. The injured arm stood out starkly against his black t-shirt. Her fingers traced his forearm—cold as death. When she reached his bicep, his clenched jaw betrayed the pain.

"Does it hurt?" She reached for the first aid kit.

He shook his head. "I'm happy."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Truly." His gaze burned. "This arm was a fair price to be with you."

As she dabbed antiseptic, she blew gently on the wound. His muscles relaxed slightly.

"It's a bad injury."

"...It's nothing."

"Was it really a motorcycle accident?"

Suddenly he gripped her wrist. "How should we decorate our future home?"

The cotton swab froze mid-air.

"Someone hit you, didn't they?" Her voice tightened. "Accidents don't just injure elbows."

"Stella..."

"You promised no lies." She cupped his face. "Yet I don't even know who hurt my man."

The dam finally broke.

"Charlie said your business is finished. Tell me everything about you now."

"...Are you sure?"

"I want the truth."

He closed his eyes. "I did this to myself."

"What?"

"Someone forbade our relationship." A bitter smile twisted his lips. "This arm repays his kindness."

Her first thought was Lily Savigny and her mother, but she dismissed it.

"The person who helped you during your illness?"

"At my lowest point with bipolar disorder," his voice roughened, "without him, I might've..."

"Might've what?"

"Gone schizophrenic. Or died."

She gasped.

"A mistake now, but he saved me then." His fingers brushed her hair. "One arm for a lifetime together? A bargain."

"Who is it?"

"After we're settled abroad."

"You can't oppose him?"

"His influence..." His Adam's apple bobbed. "Beyond your imagination. We must leave quickly."

Suddenly he smiled, eyes alight. "You'll design. I'll find ordinary work. School runs, you teach art, I teach math. Bring Marshmallow too. Once healed, we'll..."

The image shimmered.

So beautiful it ached.

Money was terrifying.

For money, Lily caused a car crash. For money, Claire Florent worked herself sick. For money, Victor Lefèvre betrayed his own sister.

If only they'd been ordinary people...

"Mr. Alistair."

"Yes?"

"I'll leave with you soon."

Laugh lines crinkled his eyes. "Good."

"Still afraid?"

"Truthfully?"

"Yes."

"Terrified." His whisper cracked. "Afraid after all these years, it'll still be for nothing."

The words were a key.

Unlocking a long-buried memory.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She forced a smile. "Blood ties are strange."

Strange that Ethan predicted his injury.

Strange that father and son spoke identical words.