Chapter 12
747words
In the parking lot, only the two of us remained.
And a deathlike silence.
After a brief moment of shock, the blood in my entire body seemed to freeze. I felt no excitement from our reunion after a long separation, nor gratitude for being rescued—only anger and panic at being spied upon and violated once again.
How could he be here?!
How did he know I was here?!
I turned to leave, only wanting to escape as quickly as possible from this suffocating man, to flee from all the unbearable past he brought with him. I didn't even dare to look back at him, afraid to see that familiar expression of complete control on his face.
"Don't go!"
A hoarse voice, almost lost, came from behind me.
The next second, my arm was grabbed by an irresistible force. I turned around and met those deep eyes that I had been obsessed with for five years, and had resented for two.
He grabbed me, but not like before, when he would forcibly drag me back. His fingers trembled slightly, his grip so tight as if afraid I would disappear the next second, yet with an almost humble carefulness.
"Jessica..." He looked at me, his Adam's apple moving with difficulty, "Let's... talk."
"Talk?" I laughed coldly, as if I'd heard some ridiculous joke. I tried hard to shake off his hand but found his grip unyielding.
"Mr. Foster," I raised my head, meeting his gaze with eyes full of icy mockery, "What is there left to talk about? Do you want to tell me about your blissful married life with Miss Stewart, or do you want to accuse me of returning to Shanghai and disturbing your peaceful existence?"
"I'm not married!"
Francis Foster almost shouted, his voice carrying the agitation of someone wrongfully accused, suppressed for too long.
His eyes turned red in an instant, staring at me intensely like a desperate trapped beast.
"The engagement was canceled," he said, enunciating each word as if using all his strength, "It was canceled after you left."
I was stunned.
My mind went blank.
Taking advantage of my momentary daze, he stepped forward, forcing me closer. His scent was still that familiar mixture of cool woody fragrance and faint tobacco—the smell I once found so intoxicating.
But now, that scent only made me feel suffocated.
"These two years, I've been looking for you for two years..." his voice actually carried a hint of pleading, and those eyes that once looked down upon the world from on high were now filled with pain and regret, "Jessica Johnson, I'm sorry. I was a bastard before, I was wrong... I pushed you away with my own hands..."
He took a deep breath, as if mustering all the courage of his life, looked into my eyes, and said the words I had yearned for during five years of my youth.
"I love you."
"Will you come back to me?"
"I love you"...
These three words, like a key that arrived far too late, finally reached the long-rusted lock.
But it came too late, so late that the heart of the lock had been corroded beyond recognition by time.
I looked at him, at the pain in his eyes, at the vulnerability on his face that I had never seen before. I should have felt vindicated, but in my heart, there was only a hollow wasteland.
I shook my head, and then, with an almost cruel calmness, slowly, finger by finger, pried open his hand that was gripping mine.
"Mr. Foster," I looked at him, my voice as light as a breeze, yet clearly reaching his ears, "it's too late."
"Your apology, your love—I can no longer afford any of it."
"We ended a long time ago."
After I finished speaking, I didn't look at his expression that instantly turned as pale as paper. I walked past his rigid body and headed toward the parking lot exit without looking back.
Behind me came a dull, heavy thud of flesh hitting the wall.
I didn't turn around.
Because I knew that between him and me, what separated us was no longer as simple as a wall.
It was a sea of fire, a field of ruins.
And that great fire was lit by his own hands.
