I stayed in that man's arms for what felt like an eternity, long enough to believe we had encountered some disaster.

Then, I heard a soothing baritone voice. "Don't be afraid. It's alright. I'm here; nothing will happen to you..."

The voice came again and again, sounding distant and unreal.

In a daze, I lifted my head and looked at him through blurry eyes.

For a moment, Conrad's familiar face overlapped with the man's in front of me.

The terror of surviving a near-death experience overwhelmed me, and I buried myself in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

It was as if all the tears I'd been holding back for so long were finally being released.

Eventually, I ran out of tears and my consciousness started to return.

I realized that the man before me was not Conrad.

I was just alone on this flight to Hord City, narrowly avoiding disaster.

...

"Here, take this."

The man handed me a tissue, and I wiped away my tears.

As my vision cleared, I noticed his once immaculate clothes were now wrinkled and damp from my tears and fear-induced grip marks.

I could even see faint outlines of his chest muscles beneath the soaked fabric.

"Sharon, get a grip on yourself!"

I silently cursed myself and looked at him apologetically.

"I'm so sorry, Sir. How much was your outfit? I'll pay for it."

He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and looked at me with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

I assumed his manners prevented him from quoting an outrageous amount.

"It's fine, really. Just tell me. I might not have enough cash on me. Could you leave me your bank account number? I'll transfer the money to you."

"Can I give you my number?"

"Huh?" I paused but quickly responded, "Sure."

He took my phone and typed. A new number appeared in my contacts.

"Contact me when you're convenient."

"Okay, I'm so sorry."

With the help of a flight attendant, I returned to my seat, and from there, I could see the man again; our seats were quite close.

...

Five hours later, the plane landed in Hord City, and I received a call from Conrad.

"Why did it take so long for you to answer?"

"The plane..." I swallowed my words, not wanting to explain further. "It was delayed."

"Mom said the ointment you brought last time worked well. Get some more when you come back from this trip."

"Okay."

My job often required me to travel, mostly between Hord City and Trury City.

If Conrad cared enough, he'd have noticed that my flight was delayed by three hours.

But he knew and didn't say a word.

The truth was, I was no longer his priority. Perhaps, I wasn't even on his list anymore...

Suppressing my bitterness, I asked, "Conrad, is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?"

I heard the sound of a door closing and, faintly, a woman's voice that quickly faded away.

I laughed bitterly. It was ironic.

In fact, as soon as I got off the plane, a message from Susanna popped up on my phone.

The content was: [Sharon, do you need help packing your things?]

Susanna seemed overly eager.

Clearly, Conrad knew nothing about this and intended to keep treating me like a fool.

"It's nothing. I've got to go now," I said, hanging up the call.

...

I returned to the hotel, quickly showered, and rushed to meet with a client. After the meeting concluded and contracts were signed, I thought everything was settled. However, the client was in high spirits and insisted on celebrating with drinks.

Although I have a mild allergy to alcohol, I didn't decline the invitation.

I drank until I was hunched over a toilet, vomiting uncontrollably.

It was already four o'clock in the morning.

My assistant saw the client off, and after taking a sobering pill and getting some fresh air, I felt relatively sober.

I hailed a cab and got in.

My assistant's loud calls from outside were muffled by the car windows and the cold wind.

At four o'clock in the morning, the sky was starting to lighten. The dark horizon was pierced by golden streaks.

It reminded me of Conrad's awkward and earnest confession when he first asked me to be his girlfriend.

He had nervously held my hand, looking dazed as he asked, "Would you be my girlfriend?"

Back then, he was a proud, spirited young man. Despite the lectures from teachers and parents, he insisted on holding my hand and running freely across the school grounds.

I remembered... Conrad was waiting in line to buy me a Pretzel, his ears turning red from the cold, but he kept it warm in his jacket to ensure it wouldn't get cold for me.

He said, "I can't let it catch a bit of cold, not for my dear Sharon."

I thought those moments would last forever...

When the driver informed me we had arrived, I was still lost in my memories, tears streaming down my face.

I thanked him, opened the door, and got out, only to trip over the steps.

I felt a sharp pain in my knee, sure that I had scraped it badly.

The pain was so intense it felt like my bones might have fractured.

Turned out I was not sober.

That was the day when I first met Hugh Mackintosh.

A pair of polished men's shoes appeared before me, and a deep, pleasant voice sounded above me. "Can you stand up?"

I looked up at the sound.

He was tall, bathed in the first light of dawn, with a halo of silver radiance surrounding him like a deity descending to earth.

I was entranced, forgetting my disheveled state as I sat on the ground.

He crouched down, and only then did I realize this was the man from the plane, the one whose pristine suit I had ruined. His entire demeanor radiated nobility.

"What a coincidence, meeting again," I murmured, not sure if he heard me.

"You've been drinking?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement. "And quite a lot, it seems."

Before I could respond, I suddenly felt myself being lifted.

Looking up, I found our faces were now only inches apart.

He cradled me in his arms, and to steady myself, I had to wrap my arms around his neck.

His features were striking—high-bridged nose, sharp jawline...

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the alcohol, but I couldn't stop my gaze from drifting downward, oblivious to how intrusive it was.

"You look so familiar..." I slurred.

He paused briefly before continuing to walk. "You should update your pickup lines."

"You remind me a bit of..." I waved my hand in the air as if trying to capture the memory, "a childhood neighbor..."

I dug through the fragments of my past and shook my head.

"No, not quite. He wasn't nearly as handsome as you. Just a little troublemaker... He even stole my love letters back then. It still makes me mad when I think about it, huh!"

He jostled me a bit for no reason, making me tighten my grip around his neck.

Resting against his chest, I could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, bringing an inexplicable sense of calm, much like when we were on the plane.

Perhaps it was the strong liquor I had consumed last night that made my thoughts uncontrollable, including my actions.

I traced his brow, following the line of his nose down to his neck, and finally resting my hand on his Adam's apple.

I watched as his Adam's apple moved, and I instinctively swallowed as well.

He finally looked at me, his eyes filled with complex emotions and a barely concealed desire.

Even in my haze, I could feel the heat rising in my face.

The air around us grew thick with tension, and I forced myself to look away.

He gently placed me on the couch in my hotel room.

He grabbed my wandering hand. "Stop moving around. You're seducing me."

"Sweetie, did you bring me here just because you felt sorry for me?" My cheeks flushed, and in my semi-drunken state, my eyes gleamed as I looked up at him.

"Yesterday you called me sir, now I'm your sweetie?"

I heard him chuckle softly, unsure if he was mocking me or laughing at my pathetic state.

"You don't like it?" I tilted my head and looked at him. "You still hasn't answered my question."

"I don't sleep with women who are engaged."

I grumbled in protest. "Who said I'm engaged?"

I wasn't sure when my hand slipped under his jacket, but he stopped me.

He held my wrist firmly, not enough to hurt, but it was painful.

His voice was low and restrained. "Then what is this?"

"Oh."

An engagement ring.

I sank back like a deflated balloon.

My head throbbed.

I picked up my phone and habitually opened my WhatsApp, seeing Conrad's name pinned at the top and the empty chat.

Susanna had sent me a picture of a stained shirt.

It was Conrad's birthday last year, and I had it custom-made overseas.

"Sharon, Conrad said this was your birthday gift to him. I didn't know it couldn't be machine washed..."

I tossed my phone aside, rubbing my temples in frustration.

"Apply this, and drink this." The man returned, handing me a warm towel and a glass of water.

I didn't take them and just stared at him blankly.

Maybe it was the vengeful thoughts growing inside me...

Maybe it was the alluring gentleness of the man in front of me...

Maybe it was the enchanting first light of dawn...

I raised my right hand and, in front of him, removed the ring and threw it away.

This ring had been on my finger for five years, almost taking root.

I licked my dry lips, daringly hooking my finger into his belt loop. "Is it okay now, Sweetie?"