Chapter 297
The car wound its way up the mountain as the breeze grew cooler.
Mist shrouded the summit, with fine threads of rain drifting through the air.
He parked steadily, stretching his long legs before carefully lifting her out.
"Your coat is ruined," he murmured, eyeing the glaring bloodstains on her jacket.
Stella shrugged it off and wrapped it around his injured left hand instead. "It's already dirty anyway."
He let her tend to him without protest, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
When she saw the wound on his palm, her breath hitched.
The gash ran deep enough to glimpse bone, blood welling up the moment she loosened her grip.
She quickly bound it tightly with the coat, knotting the sleeve securely.
"Looks like a basketball," he remarked, shaking his bandaged hand.
"I think it's fine," she insisted stubbornly.
His gaze softened. "Alright."
"You're going to the hospital tomorrow."
"Stella."
"Hmm?"
"These past years..."
She looked into the distance. "Just surviving. When I heard about Mr. Alistair's death, I almost couldn't go on."
Adrian's fingers twitched slightly.
"I know you're not him," she said quietly. "You're Adrian Roland."
The mountain breeze swept past, tousling the loose strands of hair at her forehead.
"Thank you for saving me today." She smiled faintly. "Just like Mr. Alistair did back then."
He removed his helmet, revealing weary eyes.
"New bike?"
"Bought it this morning."
The memory of the pear soup last night made her ears grow warm. "About yesterday..."
"Cold shower accident," he cut in. "Not useless."
Stella abruptly rolled up his sleeve.
Dark bruises mottled his elbow in a disturbing pattern.
"The pear soup was too strong," he explained softly. "Pain keeps me awake."
Her fingertips trembled. "You endured this all night?"
"Yeah. It worked."
"Where did you go after?"
"Saw my therapist." His gaze drifted to the sea of clouds. "Had a dream last night."
"What about?"
"This place." His voice was rough. "Never been here before, yet every detail matched."