That familiar note of threat—low, deliberate—
sank between us like the echo of a locked door.
I gave a small, tired smile. “I haven’t forgotten. But I also remember
the doctor saying that day—
I nearly went into cardiac failure saving you.”
He froze, a flicker of stiffness flashing through his features.
It was the one memory he could never bear to face.
“Don’t bring that up again,” he said coldly. “You saved me, and I gave
you five years of life.”
I lifted my head. For the first time, there was no fear in my eyes.
“Five years?” I said quietly. “That wasn’t life. It was imprisonment.”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak.
His expression twisted—part anger, part guilt—
but the flicker of remorse vanished almost instantly.
“When I’m gone,” he muttered, his voice sinking into a low, restrained
growl,
“don’t cause trouble. If anything happens to Kendall…”
He paused.
“You know the consequences.”
Then he bent down and kissed Kendall on the forehead.
That scene—
one I had imagined in countless dreams—
was never meant to belong to anyone else.
The door closed.
He was gone.
The living room fell silent.
Kendall slumped onto the sofa, her posture lazy, a mocking smile tugging
at the corners of her lips.