"What... What score?" I asked, a little nervous.
"First, it's your attitude toward marriage."
"No matter what it is, big or small if you're upset, you can always tell me. I won't let you bottle it up, please believe me."
"But from now on, never bring up the word 'divorce' again."
"Being together isn't easy in the first place."
"I want to walk this path with you, and I ask you not to give up on me easily. Is that okay?"
I nodded.
He cleared his throat: "Let's talk about the past."
"What was the deal with you flirting and then running off?"
I froze.
Flirting with him? How is that even possible? He was still a high school student back then.
Alexander reminded me, "Back then, you called me Mr. Alexander."
Ah, I remember now!
I sheepishly replied, "That was all in the past. Calm down, okay?"
Seven years ago, after I withdrew my financial support, I thought we had no further ties.
But the world is so small.
When he was a freshman, he became a tutor for my younger brother.
The boy had grown into a tall, elegant young man with exquisite features and a dignified presence.
But he had become quieter, more distant, and cold.
He was far from the shy, smiling boy I had known on stage.
So I didn't recognize him.
And that summer, I was forced to return to the country by my parents.
The reason? My brother was about to enter his final year of high school, and he needed someone to watch over his studies during the summer.
So the house was left with just me, my younger brother, and Alexander, all of us staring at each other.
That summer, I was very intrigued by him, with his fair skin, cool demeanor, and detached air.
I flirted with him, confessed to him...
But he still didn't like me, and he deliberately distanced himself.
Fine, back then, I thought.
Twenty-year-old Alexander clearly hated 23-year-old Isabella.
You could say he utterly despised me.
So, I used the excuse of needing to heal after failing in my pursuit and slipped abroad under my parents' noses.
The next time we met was seven years later.
He had shed his youthful innocence, now wearing a high-end tailored suit with an aristocratic demeanor.
Suddenly, I remembered the time during our blind date when he, with a dignified and indifferent air, asked me: "Miss Isabella, have you ever had someone you liked?"
Among all the people I was matched with, he was the last one.
And the one who made me fall for him.
Outside the window, it was lightly raining, and the sky was ominously overcast.
I cautiously considered my words: "I definitely felt a flutter in my heart for a few seconds, but I wouldn't say I liked you."
At that, he let out a cold laugh, his tone nearly mocking. "So, Miss Isabella, that flutter in your heart…"
"Must be quite cheap."
"......"
He took off his gold-rimmed glasses and tugged at his tie.
There was a sharp snap as he turned off the light above us.
His hand moved to my ear, fingers gently kneading my earlobe.
The act of touching the ear is just the right distance.
It's enough to make one drown in his gaze.
Like gentle waves kissing the rocks.
But the next second, his energy built up, stronger and stronger.
His voice was rough, almost impossible to recognize: "Isabella, just apologizing won't work."
As his words fell, it was as though he had gathered an immense force within himself.
The tension built like an unstoppable wave, crashing relentlessly, as if the night stretched on in a fevered, unyielding heat. That night, no one could sleep. The air was thick with unspoken tension like a charged atmosphere waiting to explode.
"......"
