When Eloise returned, without Isidore around to nag and get in the way, she truly enjoyed a period of peace and ease. Her relationship with her parents was still strained, but she no longer let it bother her. After all, she had dealt with much more dangerous people before—dealing with them was like using a hammer on a fly. She dipped into her small savings, ignored their objections, and decisively moved into a small apartment on her own.
The last time she saw Isidore, he was lying in a pool of blood. The image had become a little blurry over time. Only once, during a hot spring therapy session, did she suddenly wake up with a start, disoriented, convinced that the surface beneath her was blood. The terror nearly overwhelmed her.
There was also something strange—after playing the role of the villainess for so long, without her interference, Lucienne and Quintus still hadn't reconciled. They continued to stay at odds over that small misunderstanding. It was as if everything was waiting for her to return and continue pushing the plot forward. But Eloise had lost interest.
When she had first decided to play the role of the villainess, it had been out of laziness. It felt like stepping into a story she knew well, like being able to predict the future, knowing where she was headed. But reality had proven otherwise—who could have expected that the second male lead, who once didn't love the female lead, would end up falling for her? Since that was the case, why force herself to go against her original intent, exhausting herself for a role she no longer cared about?
If it was just for the sake of money, she figured she might as well earn it herself. With this realization, Eloise decided to end her aimless, post-graduation life as a drifter. She used a bit of her family connections to arrange an internship at Ashdown Company, seeking Lucienne as her direct superior. There was no particular reason for the choice—simply put, the female lead had trustworthy character, would definitely teach her well, and, most importantly, would never make things difficult for her.
Life became busy and fulfilling, until one day, she received a bouquet of flowers, accompanied by an invitation with opera tickets. The entire gesture exuded a regal "The King is back" aura. Eloise nearly jumped out of her skin, as if she had witnessed the resurrection of a mummy. She could guess who had sent it, so without a second thought, she handed it to Lucienne: "If you don't want to go, just throw it away."
The ticket wasn't cheap, and Lucienne, being so frugal, would certainly go, regardless of whether she wanted to or not. When Isidore saw that the person beside her wasn't who he expected, he couldn't help but curl the corner of his mouth. Lucienne, however, was quite surprised: "Mr. Kingswell, what a coincidence!" "Not a coincidence," Isidore stood up, adjusting his tie. "The play's well arranged. Enjoy." He walked straight out of the theater.
The invitation outlined the details of the date: watch the opera, then dine at a riverside restaurant. Isidore ordered a bottle of red wine and waited from evening until late into the night, but the person never showed up. Eloise, too, had a rough night. She had planned to shower and get to bed early, but just as she stepped into the bathroom, the water pipes exploded at the most inconvenient moment. After a long time spent trying to fix it, the pipes remained broken, and her clothes were soaked through. Defeated, she collapsed onto the sofa, her body aching with exhaustion. At that moment, the doorbell rang.
Isidore stood outside the door, a faint scent of alcohol on him. Eloise looked at him, but he was the first to avert his gaze. It was then that she noticed the scar on his neck—a wound that had been cut open and sewn shut. She turned and walked into the house, with Isidore following silently behind. Neither of them spoke. Eloise pondered, wondering, in his heart, who was truly at fault in this situation.
Every time she recalled the moment when he was on the verge of death, she couldn't help but think of the way he looked at her in his final moments. Over time, the memory had become somewhat unclear, the details hard to distinguish—did he, like Charlie, ever doubt that the gun she raised was aimed at him? At first, she thought he wouldn't be that stupid, but during that month, he kept her locked up and didn't come to see her, not even once before leaving. So, she wasn't sure anymore.
Alright, she was even a little angry. But if, in reality, he believed she had the motive to kill him, then why was he coming to find her? Was it to accuse her or to settle scores later? Eloise's mind was in a frenzy, so to avoid him, she made sugar water in the kitchen, poured it into a large mug, and placed it in front of him. "Wrong place? Drink this and leave quickly."
Isidore watched her face through the rising steam, deliberately keeping his expression cold, yet it still appeared so obedient. Her fingers, gripping the handle of her cup, were delicate and pale, like jade. He suddenly felt a wave of long-lost vulnerability, and a sharp pain surged in his chest. She was truly good, so clean, as pure as glass, transparent in a way that made one see through her completely, even those little harmless misdeeds, so endearing.
His past and present were too heavy, but only the future, with her in it, held any glimmer of hope. It wasn't that he wasn't envious—someone like Milo, a scoundrel, had a father like Mr. Ravenscroft, who loved him unconditionally. Isidore had no family, and to become "Mr. Kingswell," he had no true friends. But in the end, did Mr. Ravenscroft ever appreciate his efforts? At the last moment, all he thought of was his son.
It wasn't that he didn't harbor resentment. He tried to empathize with what it would feel like if he were dying—his situation wasn't much different now—and realized that the only person he would truly care about would be her. He still hadn't received enough warmth from her. After his sister's death, he had been lonely for so long, and everything he had received was never what he truly desired. Why shouldn't he be allowed warmth, a home of his own?
It was only when he reached this thought that he felt a sense of relief—he had no right to blame Mr. Ravenscroft, because in those moments, he too had been selfish.
The long fingers, gripping the rim of the cup, trembled slightly. Isidore restrained his emotions and pulled a few thin sheets of paper from his jacket. "I asked you out to discuss this." Eloise took the papers, the mix of Chinese and English making it somewhat difficult to read, but her caution made her examine them carefully. "It's a bit rushed, but legally, it's absolutely solid. All my assets are listed here. Once you sign, it's all yours. And all you need to do is one thing—"
Eloise caught a few key terms in the document and looked up in shock. Isidore's hand, resting on the table, curled slightly as he met her gaze, his eyes betraying no emotion. "Marry me." Eloise's eyes widened more and more, until the goosebumps on her back and arms became unbearable. With a sudden "whoosh," she stood up and overturned her chair. "You—you—are you out of your mind?!"
