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Chapter 1
I’d been dating Quinten Watson for ten years, and I got his favorite flower, the gardenia, tattooed on my collarbone.
He finally agreed to marry me, but he’d been keeping an 18–year–old girl behind my back.
Before the wedding, he let her have her countdown to breaking up.
He took her skydiving, skiing, and to Nevervale to see the polar lights.
What he didn’t know is that I was about to die.
I booked a flight abroad, donated all his money, and got the tattoo removed.
While he was counting down the days to our wedding, I was planning my departure.
***
The day I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, the girl Quinten was keeping outside approached me.
“I know I’m the other woman,” she started off with a terrifying sincerity.
She bit her lip, adding, “Kierra, I know you’re getting married soon, but-
“Quinten doesn’t love you anymore.
“I’ve been with him for a year. We’ve slept together seventy–eight times, fifty–three at hotels, twenty–one at my place. And four times at your house, in your bed.”
She looked at me straight. “If Quinten still loved you, he wouldn’t have slept with me.”
I found it amusing.
So I lit a cigarette, looking at her through the smoke. “What else? Go on.”
Then she pulled out her phone and showed me a video.
Judging from the angle, it was secretly filmed.
In the video, she was crying in Quinten’s arms, “Even if you have to marry her for responsibility, can you not leave me?”
Quinten pushed her away, threw a bank card at her. “Find a reliable man. Dating me isn’t a good thing; it’s too dangerous.”
Chapter 1
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“No!”
She put her arms around his waist, saying in a coquettish tone, “I’m not afraid of danger.
“Can you not leave me?
“Quinten, I won’t be a burden to you; I absolutely won’t.”
Quinten paused; his gaze swept over her face.
After staring at her for a few seconds, he kissed her.
I put out my cigarette.
The girl just turned eighteen, looking pure and exuberant.
The moment I saw her, I realized how much she looked like me.
The eighteen–year–old me.
“You’re right about one thing–if Quinten still loved me, he wouldn’t have slept with you.”
I stood up, my stomach ached a bit.
I leaned on the table, pretending to be okay.
“But I advise you not to fall for him. Quinten never loved you, or me.
“He only loves the Kierra in his memories.”
That pure,
beautiful Kierra who died long ago on the way to help him rise.
“In a few years, he’ll meet a new substitute, and you’ll end up worse than me.”
Actually, I lied to her.
I was dying, how could she ended up worse than me?
At most, she’d just be discarded by Quinten when he grew tired of her.
I was with Quinten since I was eighteen.
I grew up without parents, and my grandmother who raised me passed away when I was fifteen.
That was when Quinten showed up in my life.
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He was in hot pursuit of me, spending money on me like crazy just to give me the best in the world.
Because of his good looks and the sense of security he gave me, I quickly fell for him.
On my nineteenth birthday, he coaxed me into having sex with him.
That night, from pain to indulgence, I became one with him.
The next day, Quinten took me to meet his friends.
I had never been in such a situation, timidly holding onto Quinten’s clothes, quietly following his lead. His friends looked at me with teasing eyes.
“Quinten, why did you get a little girl?
“She’s too well–behaved, she’ll hold you back.”
I didn’t know what they meant by “hold back” back then.
I just couldn’t help but quietly retort, “No, I won’t.
“I won’t be a burden to Quinten.”
Definitely not.
But later, as I gradually got involved in Quinten’s life, I understood the life he was living.
It was like walking on eggshells.
To not hold Quinten back, to be able to stand by his side, I had to force myself to fit into that
environment.
In ten years, I cut my hair short, dyed it, smoked, got tattoos.
I even got countless scars on my body.
Because I was tough enough, I accompanied Quinten to become the second–in–command in
Bleakshire’s underworld.
But Quinten didn’t seem happy.
Countless nights, he held me in his arms, his fingers brushed over the scars on my body, then
leaned in and kissed them.
“Kierra.”
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He buried his face in my chest and sighed, “I still like the you from back then.”
And I always pushed him away after a daze, lit a cigarette, and laughed, cursing, “Quinten, you’re such an ungrateful bastard.”
Chapter 1
