Blake stopped in his tracks, but I kept walking.

Just as I was about to slip into the rain and leave, someone held an umbrella over my head.

Suddenly, I was pulled into a warm embrace.

His hand, gripping the umbrella handle, was pale and cold.

Blocking Blake's intense, intimidating gaze, someone said calmly, "Mr. Sullivan, you should probably mind your own business. I'll personally take care of my woman."

How long had it been since I heard anyone call me that?

I held my breath. Frowning, I raised my head and looked up, only to meet his dark, unreadable eyes.

It was Lucas Greyson. He stood there, cold and composed.

And it felt as if the frail, sickly boy who used to hide sketch portraits of me in the attic wasn't him.

I took a few steps backward before I even realized it, but his arm slid around my waist and held me still.

He gave the black umbrella above his head a gentle shake

That day, my emotions had gotten to me. When I thought about everything I had done to Lucas, I couldn't even look him in the eye.

Lucas was still the same—refined, composed, the kind of man who always seemed calm and gentle in everyone else's eyes.

Every night when he sent me milk, he would push the door open and ask casually, "Ms. Norman, do you need to let off some steam tonight?"

God knew how tempting he looked in that V-neck pajama, especially with the bite mark on his lips.

However, I was never someone who wavered easily. I downed the warm milk in one gulp and slammed the door shut.

Yet, later that night, he knocked again as always.

I arched my brow lazily, planning to reject him before he could speak. "I'm not interested."

Then, I saw him tilt his head slightly, motioning toward the two people sitting on the couch downstairs.

Blake had come, but he didn't come alone. He als

I still remembered that there had been a flu outbreak in Grayford in my second year with Blake.

The mortality rate was three percent.

I had a weak immune system, so I was forcibly quarantined.

My vision was hazy and burning, yet I could still see Blake's face appear in front of me.

For a moment, I thought I was dreaming.

Grabbing his hand, I called out in a hoarse voice, "Blake, I miss you so much. Is this the last time I'll ever see you?"

Each day, I was only conscious for a few minutes.

Blake had never cried in front of me before. That day, though, he wept like crazy.

He was just some punk. No one knew how he had managed to sneak in, but he had somehow gotten into the school as a volunteer.

He checked from Block A to Block C before finally spotting my name on the quarantine list.

I scolded Blake for being reckless, telling him not to risk his life just to take care of a severely ill patient like me.

However, he didn't listen. He simply slipped a silver bracelet onto my wrist.

He said, "Happy birthday, Zoey."

We were so broke that year.

Just one silver ring in an accessories shop could keep us staring for ages.

I thought I wouldn't live to see the next spring, but Blake still wished me a happy birthday that day.

That day, dogwood petals fluttered past the window of the quarantine ward.

Later, I found out that the silver bracelet had been made from the childhood charm bracelet Blake used to wear when he was a kid.

Blake said, "Zoey, I won't die. No matter how bad it gets, I can still take it. So you should promise me you'll live a peaceful, happy life."

That silver bracelet stayed on my wrist for nine years.

It was a trace Blake had left on me in our youth.

Back then, I thought my life and Blake's could stay intertwined, just like that silver bracelet, melted and remade into one.

It was Blake who had given me peace and joy.

And now, that silver bracelet didn't fit me anymore. 

Gritting my teeth, I yanked it off, even when my wrist turned red from the friction.

Panicked, Blake stubbed out the cigarette. His eyes were bloodshot as he asked, "Zoey, what the hell are you trying to do?"

I frowned, holding back the tears that were already welling in my eyes.

It was Blake who had asked me to name a price.

Now that I had given him my answer, he couldn't accept it.

"Blake, let's just—"

"Don't say it!"

He rushed forward and wanted to cover my mouth, but Lily stopped him.

Wearing a faint smile, a single drop of tear streamed down my cheek. "I was never the one who clung…"

As I stopped speaking, I threw the twisted silver bracelet into the fish pond outside.

At that moment, ripples spread across the green water.

Blake rushed to the edge of the pond. The rain was pouring and soaking through his clothes, but he didn't care and dropped to his knees.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't even spot a glint of silver.

Seeing how anxious he was, I almost jumped into the water just to pull that bracelet out with my own hands.

The pain in my chest only grew stronger. 

What was this supposed to mean? Did he still have a place for me in his heart?

Those memories with Blake for the past ten years flashed before my eyes like a reel of film.

The heartache left me numb, and I was struggling to breathe.

All of this was just for that one birthday wish from years ago. I told myself it was worth it.

However, no matter how hard it was for me to walk away from the past, everything was over.

It was still drizzling. As I stepped into the rain, it felt like I had left part of my soul behind.

Blake came running after me with an umbrella in his hand.

His clothes reeked of smoke, and the hand he placed on my shoulder wasn't one I could brush off so easily.

"Zoey, let me walk you home."

I didn't look back.

Lily stepped into the puddle, walking toward us. Her hair was completely wet, and her face was pale.

At that moment, she looked vulnerable. "Blake, are you just going to abandon me here?"


Blake stopped in his tracks, but I kept walking.

Just as I was about to slip into the rain and leave, someone held an umbrella over my head.

Suddenly, I was pulled into a warm embrace.

His hand, gripping the umbrella handle, was pale and cold.

Blocking Blake's intense, intimidating gaze, someone said calmly, "Mr. Sullivan, you should probably mind your own business. I'll personally take care of my woman."

How long had it been since I heard anyone call me that?

I held my breath. Frowning, I raised my head and looked up, only to meet his dark, unreadable eyes.

It was Lucas Greyson. He stood there, cold and composed.

And it felt as if the frail, sickly boy who used to hide sketch portraits of me in the attic wasn't him.

I took a few steps backward before I even realized it, but his arm slid around my waist and held me still.

He gave the black umbrella above his head a gentle shake, then smirked.

He didn't even blink as he stared at me, his gaze deep. "Miss, if you take one more

Chapter 5 The Best Way to Forget