Then again, he was an orphan—of course he longed for a home where he truly belonged.
I watched the three of them calmly, and slowly, a smile crept onto my face.
Zachary Abbott—he really was my type.
Tall. Fair-skinned and clean-cut, with a scholarly air about him.
And more importantly, every interaction we'd had proved his character was beyond reproach.
The last time we met, some old man tried to take advantage of me. Zachary rushed over without hesitation to confront him.
Even when it landed us both at the police station, he didn't show a hint of regret.
Afterward, he'd comforted me and bought me milk tea.
Watching the warm scene beneath the lights, an uncontrollable thought surfaced—illusory, aching.
If I hadn't gotten sick. Or if the illness had come just a little later.
They'd probably planned my whole life out, hadn't they?
Join the company. End up with Zachary.
Get married. Live close by. Help run the business. Have a child.
On weekends, the family of five would gather for dinner in this spacious villa while the kids played in the garden.
Such a blissful picture—delicate as a dream.
And cold reality had smashed it to pieces.