Chapter 668 Warmth in the Cold
Blood pooled dark and heavy across the dull steel rails.
Cressida's body was still warm, but her pupils were losing their light. A few stray snowflakes landed on her lashes. The cold crept into her bones, deeper, sharper, until it was all she could feel.
Julian was gone from her sight, even if he was only a few steps away.
She had chased him all her life, even married a man she did not love, just to be close to him. And in the end, he had left her no way out.
How foolish she had been, running to Julian, still imagining that he might reach for her hand. He never would. He would sooner see her gone.
Somewhere far off, voices rose, the distant wail of sirens.
But she would not last that long.
In the haze between life and death, she saw Efrain walking toward her, dressed in the white suit from their wedding day. His smile was as gentle as it had been then. He called her name, his voice warm, his hand reaching for hers.
"Cressida, come with me. Somewhere with no pain. No regrets."
She hesitated. Julian was still here.
But Efrain's smile was steady, patient. He had always known her heart, yet never judged her for it. He had treated her with kindness, always. He still called her his wife.
A faint smile touched her frozen lips.
Yes. She was Efrain's wife.
She placed her hand in his, letting him lead her into the vision — a white carriage rolling west, snow falling silent behind them. Behind her was Julian. And the obsession she finally let go.
Julian oversaw her funeral arrangements himself. Whatever grudges had existed between her and the Learmond family burned away with her final letter. From that day on, there would be no woman named Cressida in this world. Luna would be safe.
Julian knew he could be ruthless. But Cressida had been ruthless too.
By the time everything was settled, it was eight in the evening. He parked outside the villa and sat for a moment, smoking in the dark. Only when the cigarette burned low did he step out of the car — and froze.
The snow had stopped. Moonlight cut through the clouds.
Taylor stood at the top of the steps, wrapped in a long wool dress and scarf, still as a statue. She had been waiting a long time.
They looked at each other for a long moment before Julian's voice came low and rough, "Why are you out here? It's freezing."
Taylor kept her gaze on him. After a pause, she said quietly, "I was worried."
Those three words carried more than concern. They carried suspicion — and in his eyes, she found her answer.
Julian climbed the steps and stopped beside her. The porch light threw their shadows together. "Cressida stepped in front of a train. It was on the news this afternoon."
After a long silence, he nodded. "Yes. It happened today. She couldn't see a way forward. She left... with a smile. In a way, it was an ending."
His eyes searched her face, as if looking for something he could not name.
Taylor only smiled faintly. "Come inside. Your parents are waiting."
She turned toward the door.
Julian caught her hand. Her fingers were ice from the cold, so he pulled her hand into his coat pocket. Ten short steps to the door, but in those seconds, there was a quiet intimacy only lovers understood.
That night, the Learmond Mansion was alive with warmth.
Julian's parents had come to Evergreen City, planning to stay until his wedding to Taylor. Luna's family was there too, gathered for a peaceful evening. Kellan and Kennedy had seen the news of Cressida's death, but they asked nothing. No one spoke of her, for Luna's sake.
At one point, Luna asked about Cressida — where she would live now. Kennedy faltered, but Taylor stepped in, pulling Luna into her arms.
"She went abroad," Taylor told her. "She'll live there from now on."
Luna nodded and asked no more.
Taylor thought, when Luna was older, Julian might tell her the truth. But not now. Not during her childhood.
Later that night, after Luna had fallen asleep, Taylor returned to the master bedroom. Julian was out on the balcony, coatless in the winter air, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. His shoulders rose and fell, heavy with thought.
Taylor watched him for a long moment.
As a doctor, she had seen death often enough. But those were deaths of the body. Cressida's death was something else — a blow to Julian's soul. She could only understand part of it.
She let him be. She showered, changed, and made the bed. When she bent to smooth the covers, strong arms came around her waist.
She stiffened, then turned slightly.
His face was close, his voice low and warm, "I love you."
Her heart skipped. She met his gaze for a long moment before whispering, "Go take a shower."
Instead, he lowered his head and kissed her — slow, deep, and unrelenting. His hand cupped the back of her neck, firm, possessive. She resisted for a heartbeat, then melted into him.
When the moment threatened to spiral, he stopped.
His nose brushed hers. His voice was a husky promise. "Go shower. We'll finish this after."
He wanted to wash away the weight of the day before giving himself to her completely.
She gave a soft hum of agreement.
He kissed her lightly and disappeared into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, he returned, and they came together.
Outside, winter bit at the night. At the gates of the Learmond Mansion, Samuel stood leaning against a black sports car, a bottle dangling from his hand. He was drunk.
His eyes were fixed on the house.
Inside was his Taylor.