The car smelled of fragrant ebony incense.
When Fitzroy and I were together, I loved this perfume's scent. I saved up for two weeks to buy it as a birthday gift for him.
I even said that whenever I smelled this fragrance, I wanted to kiss and hug him... and then I fell asleep.
When I woke up, it was already morning.
A strange room, a strange large bed, a soft, warm blanket... I sat up dazed, trying to remember what had happened last night.
A lover?
Three million?
Has Fitzroy lost his mind?
Conflicted, I threw the blanket off and got out of bed. I stared at the bear pajamas I was wearing for a while, unsure of what to do now.
I hesitated for a while until I saw Fitzroy enter with a glass of milk.
"Awake?"
He spoke in a calm voice: "If you're awake, go wash up. You can use anything in this room. Change into something nice and come downstairs for breakfast."
He placed the milk on the bedside table and turned to leave.
By the time I finished washing up and went out, I saw Fitzroy sitting at the dining table, holding an tablet and looking at something.
I hesitated a bit, standing three steps away from him: "Mr. Wensley."
He looked up: "What did you call me?"
"Mr. Wensley?"
"A lover should please me, not make me angry."
"...Fitzroy!"
He motioned for me to come closer: "Come sit. I had the maid prepare breakfast. Let's see if you like it."
I slowly sat down and looked at the lavish spread on the table. Just as I was about to speak, I saw him pull a stack of A4 papers from his briefcase.
The words on top of the papers made my stomach drop.
[Love Contract]
---
I thought Fitzroy had lost his mind.
"...This isn't necessary."
I coughed, trying to make light of the situation: "Such things in black and white, don't you think you're just giving yourself evidence?"
"If this ever gets out, it won't look good for your reputation either."
He ignored me and pushed the papers in front of me, along with a pen. Briefly, he said: "Sign it."
I nervously held the pen, speaking softly: "Fitzroy, I don't understand you."
"With your status now, there are plenty of younger, prettier girls fighting to be your lover. Why do you want me?"
"Right now, the difference between us is like..." a king in the throne, and a beggar lying on the street.
I didn't finish the last sentence. I didn't say it with any self-deprecation, it was just a simple comment on the reality of our situation.
I honestly couldn't understand him anymore.
I put the pen down and sat up straight, looking at him:
"Mr. Wensley, if you're trying to take revenge on me, you're going about it the wrong way. Paying me to be your lover isn't revenge. In fact, for me right now, it would be more of a reward."
"If... you're doing this for some other reason, then please stop."
My clear eyes locked onto his as I spoke softly: "I do regret it, but that's all. I've never believed in rekindling old flames, and I have no face to accept your kindness. I'm sorry."
I didn't understand why Fitzroy was offering me money.
If it was for humiliation, he was being foolish. If it was because he still liked me, then he was being pathetic.
Whatever the reason, the moment we broke up, we should have been two straight lines going in opposite directions.
The intersection was behind us.
And people should never look back.
---
The atmosphere was eerily calm, with a hint of oppression.
After a while, Fitzroy took the papers back, ripped them up, and coldly told me: "Adele, don't overestimate yourself."
"Now, immediately, get out of my house!"
"Fine."
I stood up, confirmed my phone was in my jeans pocket, said goodbye to Fitzroy, and turned to leave.
It was still my day off.
I walked out of the luxurious downtown apartment and took a taxi to the hospital to visit my sickly, emaciated mother, lying in bed.
After my father's suicide, she fell gravely ill. She needed special medication imported from overseas every month and had become so thin she no longer resembled a person.
Sometimes, when she woke up, she would hold my hand and beg me to let her go.
"Little one, let me go to your father," she would cry. "It hurts so much. I don't want to be treated anymore. Please, let me die..."
The hospital room was very quiet. My mother was still unconscious.
I went to the window, paid the bill, reminded the nurse to take good care of her, then sat at the bedside and peeled an apple for her.
After peeling it, I placed it on the bedside table. Looking at her gaunt face, I thought: Next time, maybe I won't insist on resuscitation.
But if my mother were gone, what would be left for me in this world?
