Chapter 119

After hearing Jack's words, Sherry stopped walking. The look she gave him carried a trace of quiet heartache.

No wonder Jack had come to Imperial City alone, willing to take on Karina and everyone behind her by himself. So that was why.

She took a deep breath and pushed down the emotions rising inside her, then said softly, "So everything you did today — it was all to draw Karina out."

Jack didn't deny it. He just gave a small nod.

"I don't know why Karina would want to kill William. She was his ex-wife, after all."

"But as his adopted son, I owe it to him to get justice."

A light breeze drifted past, lifting the loose strands of hair at Sherry's temples.

She looked at the man standing before her — this man who could read a poker table like a chessboard and joke around with a gun pointed at him — and right now, his shadow stretched long across the ground, quiet and immovable, like a mountain.

"Jack."

She spoke suddenly, her voice soft but steady. "You're not in this alone."

Jack went still for a moment, then turned to look at her.

Sherry held his gaze. There was no fear in those beautiful eyes, no hesitation — only something that made his chest feel warm.

"You want to go after Karina — I'll help you." Her words landed with quiet certainty.

Jack was silent for a moment.

Then he said, "Thank you."

The way things had ended between them hadn't been pretty. He had hurt her deeply. He never expected Sherry would still be willing to help him.

She hadn't changed. She was still the same woman — still kind, still warm at the core. The coldness she wore on the outside was just armor. After being hurt, she had learned to hide herself behind it.

Thinking about that, Jack felt both moved and ashamed.

Maybe, from his point of view, the choice he made back then was for Sherry's own good. But the truth was, he hadn't had the courage to be honest with her. What he thought was protection had ended up being the thing that cut her the deepest.

"Sherry…" Jack murmured her name, his voice carrying a roughness that was barely there.

He didn't say anything sentimental. He just reached out and gently tucked the hair the wind had blown across her face behind her ear. When his fingertips brushed her cool cheek, his hand paused — but he didn't pull it away.

Sherry didn't move back.

She looked at him quietly, her eyes soft and steady.

Jack took a slow breath and pushed down everything that was rising inside him. Now wasn't the time to get lost in the past.

"Let's go," he said, his voice back to its usual calm. "We still have five days."

Sherry nodded and led Jack away from the casino.

The car eventually pulled up in front of an old apartment building that had seen better days.

Sherry didn't say anything. She just pulled a worn key from her pocket and opened the faded security door on the third floor with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times.

The door swung open with a soft creak.

There was no luxury, no elegance — nothing like what you'd expect from the home of a senior official in Imperial City. What greeted them instead was a space stripped down to almost nothing.

The apartment was small and didn't get much natural light.

The living room had no decorations to speak of — not even a proper rug. A faded fabric sofa sat against the wall with a single throw pillow on it.

The wooden table was bare except for a white ceramic mug and a well-worn book.

The only things that gave the place any sense of being lived in were the small single-burner stove in the open kitchen, and a pothos plant on the windowsill that was somehow thriving.

A few slivers of cool moonlight slipped through the gap in the half-drawn curtains and lay quietly across the pale wood floor.

The whole place was clean and tidy, but it had a loneliness to it — the kind that settles into a space when a woman lives there alone for too long.

Jack stood in the entryway, his eyes moving slowly around the room.

Something struck him right away. Everything about this place had the feel of someone who was always ready to leave. No personal touches, no little things that made a place feel like home — just a stopover to sleep in, nothing more.

"Sit wherever you like," Sherry said, hanging her jacket on the hook behind the door. She said it the same way you'd talk to someone you weren't particularly close to.

She walked over to the water dispenser, filled a cup, and handed it to Jack, then took one for herself and sat down on the sofa across from him.

Jack took the cup but didn't drink. He just looked at her — this woman who seemed so slight under the cool light of the room.

"Have you been living here alone… this whole time?" His voice broke the quiet.

Sherry cradled her cup and took a small sip of warm water. "Yeah," she said simply. "Living alone keeps things simple. Less to deal with. Nothing to worry about."

She looked up at him, her clear eyes meeting his, the faintest smile on her lips. "What — you think this place is too modest for you?"

"No." Jack shook his head. He set his cup on the table and leaned forward slightly. "I'm just wondering how someone as smart as you ended up turning yourself into an island."

Something flickered in Sherry's eyes at that, but it was gone almost instantly.

She didn't take the bait — it was too loaded, too pointed. Instead, she steered things back to practical ground.

"You should stay here for the next few days. I have a spare room."

"Let me go get it ready."

And with that, she headed toward the empty room.

Jack watched her go, about to stand up and help, when something on the table caught his eye.

A photo. Sitting in a cheap frame at the corner of the table.

The edges of the photo had started to fray, worn soft from being handled again and again.

Jack's eyes landed on it, and his breath stopped.

It was a picture of the two of them. From the best time they ever had together.

In the photo, Jack was wearing an old jacket washed so many times it had gone pale. His face didn't yet have that hard, guarded look that years of violence would carve into it later. He was grinning like a kid who had no idea how cruel the world could get.

And Sherry was leaning against his shoulder, both hands wrapped around his arm, her face tilted up toward the camera with a smile that held nothing back — her eyes full of light.

Back then, her whole world was him.

No title. No rank. No cold rainy nights in Imperial City.

Jack stared at the girl in the photo, and something seized his chest — a slow, pulling ache that made it hard to breathe.

She had kept it. All this time.

In this apartment with barely anything on the shelves, as cold and bare as an island, this faded photograph was the one soft thing she had kept hidden.

It sat here quietly, saying everything she never said — how many silent nights she must have spent alone, turning over the memory of what he had broken.