Chapter 3

My story with Julian began last summer.

Julian was three years older than me. My cat, Pumpkin, had snuck into his car. Julian was resting with his eyes closed inside.

His features were exquisite, yet not effeminate. Every line of his eyes and brows exuded an air of good breeding and upbringing.

When I found Pumpkin, she was comfortably curled up in his arms, acting like a shameless, flirty cat utterly charmed by a handsome face.

We connected because of the cat and exchanged contact information. Every step of our beginning was initiated by him.

That year, a typhoon hit, and the authorities warned citizens to stay indoors. Unfortunately, I got appendicitis and was in agonizing pain.

Julian was at a conference in another city at the time. I don't know how he managed to rush back.

Dark clouds hung low over the city, and the rain poured relentlessly.

Julian drove through flooded streets, his car splashing through one pool of water after another. At one point, his car skidded and crashed into a roadside barrier.

When I woke up after surgery, Julian was asleep on the hospital bed next to mine, half his face buried in the pillow, the other half exposed. He slept soundly.

He was tall, and only half of him fit on the bed. His white shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders, and his belt cinched his waist, making his legs look incredibly long.

I was lost in admiration when he suddenly opened his eyes, propped himself up from the bed, and asked in a hoarse voice, “You’re awake.”

“Thank you,” I said, blushing. I vaguely remembered calling him when the pain was unbearable last night.

Afterward, to show my gratitude, I invited him to my apartment for dinner. My parents had rented this apartment for me after I got into grad school.

Our family was comfortable, solidly middle-class, but we were still far behind the wealthy families in Silverwood City.

Our relationship was always in an ambiguous stage; it never progressed further. So, I thought it was time for me to take the first step.

One day, as we were walking home after buying groceries, a drunkard was banging on my door.

I recognized him: Blake, a senior from my grad program who had been relentlessly pursuing me. I had a terrible impression of him, and I had no idea how he’d gotten my address.

Blake glanced at me, then at Julian beside me, sizing him up from head to toe.

He immediately sneered, “No wonder you rejected me. You found yourself a rich playboy. Women really are materialistic, aren’t they? How much did he pay you to sleep with him?”

I was furious, but Julian remained calm. He comforted me, telling me to go inside and he’d handle things out here.

I slipped into my apartment, leaving the door slightly ajar. I watched as the previously gentle and well-mannered Julian kicked Blake straight into the fire escape, followed by Blake’s screams.

After that, Blake never called the police. Instead, the apartment building suddenly had more security guards, and the property manager called me several times to check in, saying someone had specifically requested it.

Julian and I were comfortable together, but we never defined our relationship. Perhaps we both enjoyed the ambiguity, testing the waters, waiting for one of us to make the first move.

One rainy evening, Julian came over for dinner as usual. I had a little red wine, and feeling playful, I played a violin piece. Then I intentionally hit a wrong note.

I looked at him with a mischievous glint in my eyes. “What do I do? I messed up.”

Julian sat on the couch, legs splayed, arms crossed. After a low chuckle, he stood up and pulled me into a hug.

“It’s okay. I like you. I like you even when you mess up.”

Our relationship finally clicked open because of a single wrong note on the violin.

I officially became Julian’s girlfriend. From that day on, we finally acted like a normal couple, sharing hugs, kisses, and intimate moments deep into the night.

…But the dream ended too quickly. Julian was going to marry someone else.

Just as I was lost in thought, a car swerved and hit me. The driver was a girl.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Are you okay? You’re not going to die, are you? W-what am I going to do? I don’t want to go to jail! I’m getting married! My kids will have a criminal record… ”

I felt like she was crying more than I was.

“I’m not going to die. I think it’s just a broken bone,” I sighed inwardly. I was actually comforting *her*.

The girl was still panicked. She made a quick call to someone she knew, her voice choked with tears. “Julian, I hit someone…”

My heart sank. *No way. It can’t be that much of a coincidence.* I looked closely at the girl’s face, then at the engagement ring on her hand. It was the same girl I’d seen at the club.