When I received the video from Victoria Harrington of her with Julian Moore, tangled together in the sheets, I was in the middle of learning the art of flower arrangement.
Because recently, Julian had suddenly developed a liking for roses.
I had asked him, You've never been interested in flowers before, why the sudden change of heart?
He had gently kissed my forehead at that moment and replied, "I just think that roses in the house would make you look even more beautiful."
After watching the video, I realized he had lied to me.
He knew nothing about flowers; he had merely fallen for a woman who resembled a rose.
The thorns of the flower pricked deeply into my pale fingertips, waking me painfully from my daze.
I stared blankly at my wounded fingers before hastily dropping the flowers and grabbing my coat to rush out.
I had to ask him, I needed to hear him say it himself.
Even though I knew Victoria well enough to be certain that she would never act without confidence.
At the end of December, the dry cold wind howled through the streets, yet it couldn't dry the burning tears in my eyes.
My thoughts were a mess, so much so that I didn't even hear the screams of the people around me.
By the time I saw the out-of-control luxury car, it was too late to avoid it.
I was thrown into the air before crashing heavily to the ground.
But the pain of the wound was nothing compared to the ache in my heart.
Before losing consciousness, I could almost see the 18-year-old Julian Moore, blushing, handing me a bouquet of lilies.
He had said that in his heart, I was as pure and beautiful as a lily.
He said, "Adelaide, I will always cherish you. "
A tear slid down my cheek as I slowly closed my eyes.
I thought I would fall into eternal sleep, but I was woken by a voice calling me.
"Miss? Miss?"
