Chapter 11

The glass-paneled oak door stood slightly ajar, allowing the soft warmth of sandalwood to drift into the rain-slicked street. Beneath it lingered the rich, nuanced aroma of freshly ground single-origin coffee. Inside, Dorian sat on the linen cushion by the low window, his long, elegant fingers lifting a matte-black pour-over kettle. The stream of hot water flowed in a slow, practiced arc over freshly bloomed grounds. He was cool and quietly graceful—the kind of man who embodied utter composure. With the dark aroma of coffee curling around him, he looked like the centerpiece of a modern painting, irresistibly bewitching. When Dorian slowly lifted his eyes, he realized Mildred, who had observed his cool display earlier, had now turned to face the wall. "What… are you doing?" "This painting looks familiar." She stared at the landscape painting hanging on the cafe's wall. Inky ridgelines bled into the distance like sleeping beasts, their forms shrouded in midnight blue under the pale wash of moonlight. A crescent hung above the highest peak, its glow cold and silver. The entire canvas exuded a quiet vastness, something haunting yet hollow. Dorian explained, "All the artwork here was acquired through private auctions. That piece was valued at up to two million dollars five years ago. The artist's a master of ink and light; his work's nearly impossible to get now." By then, Mildred had returned to her seat. "And how do you know that?" "I was there," he said. "I'd wanted to buy that for my mother as her birthday present, but the cafe's boss had been determined to acquire it. Mom didn't want to take that away from him, so the painting sits there now." "Your mother is a kind woman," she commented. Dorian choked on his saliva, then pushed the artisanal cup before Mildred. "Have a taste." She was still. "After all the formalities we've been through today, why don't you just tell me what happened last night? How did you know who I was? Have we met before?" He nodded. "Indeed, we have." "Where?" she asked, quickly inching toward him across the table. He raised a brow. "From your words, I surmise you're being truthful. Do you really not remember me? Do I have such a common face?" Mildred looked at him, cautious. "Why don't you start first?" Dorian took a few sips of the coffee, then recalled, "Three years ago, on Milgen Mountain, I was severely wounded and alone. You saved my life." Her eyes were overflowing with suspicion. "That's it?" "Well, of course not," he said. "Go on." "It's your turn." Mildred pursed her lips at the calculated man. "I don't remember you or the incident where I'd saved you. More precisely, I don't have any past memories since I awoke in that house in Westbury a year ago. "You can say I practically only have a year-long memory of this world." He frowned, his dark gaze scrutinizing her as if to detect any hints of deceit in her words. "Then, how did you know you were Mildred Ginger?" "There was a piece of paper left on my bedside when I woke up. It said, 'Your name is Mildred Ginger.'" Dorian questioned further, "How did you know medicine?" Mildred shook her head, equally clueless. "No idea. Two days after I awoke, I ran into someone with a sudden critical condition, and with my instincts, I saved the man. "Then, knowledge and memories about medicine slowly came back to me. Since then, I've been nominally affiliated with The Elmwell Practice, helping Mr. Quirke with tricky diagnoses and conveniently mooching meals along the way." Dorian took another sip of coffee. His lowered gaze made him look deep in thought. Mildred planted both hands on the table, her eyes fixed on him. "Your turn—what else do you know?" His eyes were surprisingly gentle when he looked up this time. "You didn't tell me your name back when I first met you. Instead, you told me the price of your medical service was high. "I didn't have anything worthy on me at that time, so…" "So what?" "So, I offered myself to you." Mildred spat out a mouthful of brown liquid. Solemnly, Dorian nodded. "Don't get it wrong. We both desperately needed each other's help at that time. I was on the brink of death, while you… needed a man as your antidote." She continued choking on the surprising revelation, so aggressively that her cheeks were beet red. Out of sheer disbelief, she slammed the cup onto the table. "You're saying I slept with you during your near-death experience?" He nodded once again. "Well, I didn't think you saw me as a human being at that time. You inserted a needle into the top of my head, saying it'd keep me hanging by a thread, then began undressing me—" "Alright, enough. Save the details." What an overwhelming load of information. She didn't remember anything like this in her current or previous life. How could she have done such an atrocious thing? That was utterly ridiculous! Dorian seemed to have read her thoughts, explaining, "To be fair, you were different back then." "How so?" "You were quite a monster in the past with no sense of morality or whatever, but… You're more humane now." Mildred was speechless. Was that a compliment or an insult? He continued, "You were gone by the time I woke up. I looked for you for the longest time until I finally saw you again at the hospital. I thought you'd pretended not to know me, but you actually turned me down in front of everyone when I proposed to you last night. "So, let me get this straight, Ms. Ginger—are you going to continue this amnesia excuse and not take accountability for what you did to me?" Mildred felt a temporary mental shutdown. "You said we were in desperate need of each other's help at that time. We basically owed each other nothing. What's there to take accountability for?" Something inside Dorian crumbled a little. She was a heartless player, after all. In that case, he would have to pivot. "You're in a bad position within your family." "So?" "I can help you." "You don't even know what I want or need. How'll you help me?" With the calmest tone, Dorian uttered the vilest words, "I thought you wanted all the Gingers dead." "And… was that an assumption made from the old me?" Dorian nodded. "Yeah. From my first impression of you, I believe you're someone who'll terminate anyone who gets on your bad side—the most ruthless type." Mildred's eyes were downcast. She was rather upset. To think that she had died unjustly in her previous life, all because she had been too forgiving to those who wronged her… That woman sounded nothing like the one Dorian had described. "Unless…" She was dazed. "What?" "Unless you'd acknowledged that person as one of you. In that case, you'd do anything to protect them." Back then, Mildred stripped away his shirt, straddled him, and covered his blood-oozing wound. Her blood-stained face showed a hint of exhilaration as she wrapped her hands around his neck and declared, "Don't pass out just yet, and listen to me! From now on, you're mine. I'll do anything to protect you!" What a memory. "I'm sure you've heard about the Sheppards," Dorian said. "Whether it's manpower, resources, or money, I'm your best helper." Mildred sized him up. "And how do I know you're not lying to me by taking advantage of my amnesia?" He lifted his arm and suddenly unbuttoned his shirt. "W-What are you…" And then he unfastened the subsequent buttons down his chest… His toned chest sent her blood rushing to her cheeks. For some reason, his tanned skin looked particularly alluring beneath his black shirt. When he tugged his shirt open to the side, a rose tattoo appeared on the left side of his chest. "There you go." "What does a tattoo prove?" "Come over and look—you know what, I'll go over to you." Dorian leaned toward Mildred, and it was only then that she made out the rose tattoo clearly. It twisted around a jagged scar, with the scar itself forming the heart of a bloom. Seductive vines curled downward, trailing along his skin, weaving into an elegant script that read… "P-Private property?" Mildred stuttered as she read out the words with a 90-degree head tilt. At that point, Dorian's face was only an inch away from hers. His high nose bridge was a second away from touching the tip of her nose. A smile formed on his thin lips. "I was a good boy and tattooed those words as a solemn reminder. You, on the other hand, had wiped our memories clean." Mildred swallowed hard. She couldn't help but be convinced she was actually a player—a heartbreaker. Thus, she played the part. "I don't see my name on there. You could very well be fooling me. How can I trust you?" He supported himself with one arm, then chuckled. "You're starting to look like the old you. Anyway, I'm sure you have a way to figure things out even with amnesia." She hesitated briefly. Then, she took out a black pill and dropped it into the cup. The pill quickly dissolved in the coffee, leaving the liquid unchanged. "This is a poison pill that only I have the antidote to. Go a month without the antidote, and the pain would return, stabbing straight through the bones. Let's see if you're as loyal as you claimed, Mr. Sheppard." Mildred pushed the cup toward Dorian, her eyes full of caution yet layered with a hint of mockery. The world was steeped in deceit. Even her family turned on her, so what chances did a mere life-saving stranger have?