Chapter 7

His intense stare made me take an instinctive step back, but his eyes never left mine, demanding an answer.

I took a deep breath. "He came into the café where I worked. And when I was in trouble, he showed up and saved me."

Gareth’s gaze dropped to my neck, his eyes narrowing as though scrutinizing me for something. It made me self-conscious, and I instinctively covered my neck with my hands.

When I did, he clicked his tongue, as though displeased.

"Anyway, we'll handle everything from here, Ms. Halloway," he tossed the words over his shoulder, barely glancing back, before walking toward the other men gathered around the unconscious silver-haired man.

I stood there, speechless, stunned by his audacity.

Had my mind been quick enough to react, I would have loved nothing more than to punch the smug expression off his face. But all I could do was watch, seething with frustration, as the suited men carefully moved the unconscious figure into the back of a black van. Briefcases were packed away, and the wrecked car was loaded onto a transporter, all without a hint of hesitation. It was as if they’d rehearsed this before, each movement precise, methodical. I felt a cold shiver crawl down my spine. The whole situation reeked of secrecy. And then it hit me: I was the only witness. What if they decided I had seen too much?

The men, however, simply went back to their vehicles as if nothing had happened. Mr. Larkspur, with a brief nod that I was meant to interpret as a farewell, climbed into the back of one of the cars, and they sped off, leaving me alone in the middle of an empty, dark road.

The reality of my situation crept in slowly, and when I finally registered the isolation, the quiet, the absence of any warmth, my anger flared again.

"Seriously?! You couldn't even ask if I wanted a ride home?!" I shouted into the night, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

In an impulsive burst of frustration, I kicked a piece of plastic left by their departure. It flew through the air, landing with a soft thud. Only then did I realize it was a plastic bag, its contents spilling out in dark, ominous drops. As my foot made contact, some of the fluid splashed across my white sports shoes.

"Unbelievable!" I fumed, pulling a tissue from my pocket to clean the stain. But as I wiped, the red hue on the tissue stopped me cold.

"Is this... blood?" I whispered, my stomach sinking.

After the mysterious rescue team vanished without a trace, I was left to find my own way home. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in a tough spot, and I found a strange comfort in knowing that I’d survived far worse in the past. If I had been some delicate princess, I’d have collapsed, crying. But I wasn’t. My fury was the dominant force, pushing me forward. If anyone—any drunken idiot or thug—decided to cross my path, I was ready to let my anger loose.

Still, I hoped, despite everything, for a stroke of luck. Perhaps someone, anyone, would be kind enough to offer a ride to civilization. But with my luck that day, the chances seemed nonexistent.

The road stretched endlessly ahead, empty and silent, save for the chirping of crickets and the distant calls of owls. I cursed my impulsive sense of empathy that had gotten me into this mess. Why had I run so far in the first place?

"Why didn’t I just demand they take me home?" I raged at myself. "If they were offering me money, the least they could have done was give me a ride! Ridiculous bastards!" My frustration was becoming unbearable.

It took what felt like an eternity, but I finally reached a familiar landmark. A wave of relief washed over me. Thankfully, I hadn’t gotten lost, taking only the most direct route. That small victory meant I wouldn’t have to ask some random stranger for directions in the middle of the night. God only knew where that would lead.

The image of the blood bag, discarded on the side of the road, kept haunting me. What had they been doing? Had they been giving him a transfusion out there, in the open, in such an unsterile environment? If so, they might have been doing more harm than good. But the more I thought about it, the more I doubted that. They must have done what was necessary to keep him alive until they could get him proper medical care.

"Dammit! I should have called that damn ambulance!" I cursed myself again. The decision felt worse with every passing thought.

Eventually, I made it home, exhausted but restless. My heart wouldn’t stop racing. The silver-haired man—the handsome stranger—was still on my mind.

"Thalassa, get a grip!" I scolded myself, glaring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. "You did what he asked. You’ve done your part. Stop torturing yourself. He’s fine. They’re taking care of him."

I didn’t even know why I cared so much about someone I barely knew. I didn’t know his name. So why was my mind so fixated on him? Maybe it was my subconscious seeking some kind of reassurance, something to calm the anxiety that wouldn’t leave me.

Without thinking, I pulled the black coat he had left behind from my closet and wrapped it around myself. It was almost as if I was holding onto something, anything, that connected me to him. And with that, I fell asleep.

For the next few days, I found myself glancing around every time a black car passed by. It was a ridiculous habit. I’d never see him again. I knew that. He was just passing through, like a fleeting dream. The odds of him showing up again in this town were the same as winning the lottery.

I felt ridiculous for even thinking about it. But the more I tried to brush it off, the more I couldn’t ignore the fact that my life had always been one long escape. I didn’t have the luxury of relationships—of friends, of lovers. I had no time for that. Not when I had to keep running, constantly on the move.

I’d never had a real lover, not in the way most people did. I’d lost my virginity to someone who seemed kind and safe at the time, but that was far from the reality. It was nothing short of painful. In the end, I felt violated, alone, crying for days afterwards. And that was the last time I’d ever let myself be vulnerable.

So why now, for this silver-haired man, was I feeling this storm of emotions, so out of place, so unlike myself?

To drown out the thoughts, I threw myself into work. My income grew, and so did my lifestyle. I moved from hiding in small towns to more secure, well-monitored places, even moving to Monteforte City. A place of opportunity, where the rich and powerful resided.

I rented an apartment—nothing flashy, but secure, under constant surveillance. I made the move, thinking I could finally find peace. I was wrong. Very wrong.