Chapter 2

Nikolai froze for three full seconds. Then, an innocent, confused look washed over his face.

His brows drew together, and his eyes filled with the same heartache he had always shown me. "Bunny-shaped apples?" he repeated lowly before asking cautiously, "Emi, are you willing to have a bite today? I'll go slice them right now!"

He reached out to take my hand. I stared at that hand. The very hand that, just yesterday, was feeding another woman.

I took half a step back, pressing my phone screen against my palm. It featured the photo Stella had shared of the bunny-shaped apples held between a man's long, well-defined fingers as he fed them to her.

"Nikolai."

Right then, a crude pounding at the door cut me off. Estelle's syrupy sweet voice drifted in from outside. "Mr. Hollowell, I really don't understand this page. It'll only take a minute, I promise!"

Nikolai's gaze wavered with the slightest hint of panic. He shot to his feet, crossed the room, and unlocked the door.

Estelle stood in the doorway, looking up with that dewy face of hers, holding her document. Then, from the corner of her eye, she shot me a quick glance.

He seized her wrist and dragged her into the hallway. Before stepping out, he looked back at me gently. "Give me just a second, Emi. I've left some chamomile tea by our bedside. Have a sip, wait for me, and don't come outside! I don't want you to catch a cold."

With a click, the door was deadbolted from the outside. I was frozen in place, staring at that door for a long while.

Then I turned and walked to the window. Beyond it was the second-floor terrace, connected to a section of old-fashioned iron pipes covered in ivy. Bit by bit, I climbed out, planting the tips of my toes against the wall as the night wind brushed my cheeks and rushed into my collar.

It had been three years, and I was still afraid of the dark. Ever since I was rescued from that abandoned warehouse, I had been afraid of the dark, enclosed spaces, and sudden noises.

Still, I climbed out that night. As soon as my feet touched the ground, my knees buckled, and I steadied myself against the wall.

Nikolai's lowered voice sounded around the corner. "I told you that you're not allowed to come to my home. Are you deaf?"

I pressed myself against the wall, held my breath, and slowly approached the dark alleyway.

Estelle sniffled aggrievedly. "I only came because I was afraid it wouldn't be convenient for you at home… There are no cameras here."

Nikolai didn't utter a word.

Estelle took a step forward, her voice softening. "She's such a coward. She definitely wouldn't dare come out here... Don't you want to see me, Mr. Hollowell?"

I hid behind the wall, taking in every single detail without missing a beat.

Estelle reached out and hooked her fingers around Nikolai's tie. He didn't push her away immediately. For a few seconds, he just stood there, motionless.

Those few seconds made everything clearer than words ever could.

Then, he raised his hand to remove hers. "That's enough," he said solemnly. "I'm going home. I don't feel comfortable leaving her on her own."

Estelle stiffened; however, Nikolai had already spun on his heel and began making his way home.

I hastily shrank back behind the wall, pressing my back hard against the coarse bricks and looking up at the small patch of night sky above me.

In the past, I had thought his love was real. Even if all he had left was a desire for atonement, it was still a genuine bond that existed between us.

Yet, reality dawned on me that night. The vows he had made to me all those years ago, and the silence he left another woman with tonight, were both what Nikolai did best—becoming exactly who everyone wanted him to be.

With trembling hands, I fished out my phone from my pocket and tapped on a contact I had kept buried for a long time, Dr. Sinclair. He was a leading international expert in psychological intervention and eating disorder treatment.

A month ago, he had emailed me, informing me that his intensive residential experimental treatment program was willing to make an exception and accept me. However, at the time, because I couldn't bear the thought of leaving Nikolai—and because I firmly believed that Nikolai's love was my only cure—I had rejected the offer without a second thought.

But now, staring at the faint glow of the screen, I sent him a message without the slightest hint of hesitation. "I'm willing to join your residential program, Dr. Sinclair. How soon can I depart?"

The second my message was sent, I let out a long, heavy sigh. As soon as my feet landed on the bedroom carpet after climbing back through the windowsill, the locked bedroom door was kicked open from the outside.

Nikolai stood in the doorway. He hadn't even had time to take off his overcoat. His eyes were bloodshot, and his chest heaved violently.

He was still clutching the key tightly in his hand. Clearly, he had just discovered I was not in the room and had been searching for me like a madman.

When his gaze pierced through the dim light and locked onto me—standing by the window, drenched in the chill of the night air—the air seemed to freeze over. When our eyes met, I noticed his were filled with relief, as though he had lost me and found me again, as well as a panic he desperately tried to hide. My face was likely paler than the lights in the bedroom.