What counts as powerlessness?
Watching as Damien dragged me into his car, while Julius was held back by bodyguards, screaming until his eyes were bloodshot, and still failing to make him stop – did that count?
Using all his strength to get me to the airport, hearing the boarding announcement, and watching the sleek, silver plane land. In the midst of his joyful heart, the bodyguard pressed down on his shoulder, dislocating his arm – did that count?
At the bar, trapped and desperate, kneeling to beg Damien to let me go, finally sticking out my tongue to lick his shoe – did that count?
If all of this counts, then in the last life, Julius was unquestionably dragged into the abyss by me.
A chill crept over me, spreading from my fingertips. My fingers turned pale.
Without answering him, I turned and walked away as fast as I could.
---
Damien's eyes no longer had me, and my mother spent all her time doting on my younger brother, rarely caring about me.
But I didn't mind.
After staying with Damien for so long, even the crumbs he threw my way added up to a significant amount.
I recalled the business tricks I learned from him in my past life. After registering a stock market account, I spent two days figuring out the techniques he had taught me. Money became nothing more than dancing numbers on my screen.
Staring at the mix of red and green on the monitor, I couldn't help but think about the past life.
In truth, Damien and I had our moments of harmony.
After our wedding, he handed me a branch company and taught me management step by step, using heaps of cash as practice material.
He taught me so much—prized knowledge that countless people would kill to have. Stocks, funds, securities, even industries poised for success in the next thirty years—he told me everything without reservation.
But within a few years, he wanted children. Frustrated by my refusal to cooperate, he took it all back. The stalemate between us resumed.
I closed my eyes and pushed those memories aside.
Now, I had no lack of money. My expectations for family were faint, but I poured myself into studying, burying my head in books every day, reading endlessly, afraid of missing even a single point of knowledge.
Julius messaged me frequently.
Sometimes about ants moving in a line, other times about a cat clutching a mouse in its teeth, or a street vendor selling sugar. Occasionally, he'd mention the bright moon in the sky.
I didn't reply, but he kept chatting away cheerfully to himself.
Finally, I couldn't hold back: [Don't you need to study for your exams?]
He seemed slightly hurt: [Am I annoying you?]
I bit my lip: [That's not what I meant...]
He quickly sent me a line of poetry: [Twelfth Night.]
[I have watched this classic comedy before, and in it, there is a female character whose name is the same as yours. I have always liked this character."]
[That's all I wanted to tell you. If you don't like it, I'll stop messaging you.]
In Twelfth Night, Olivia is an intelligent, independent, and emotionally rich female character. Her complex emotions and her attitude towards love make her a very captivating figure.
I typed back: [I like the comedy very much.]
His mood instantly lifted. Even his stickers were cheerful, bouncing and rolling around as if they were doing somersaults.
I couldn't help but laugh.
