Wang's POV
I shouldn't have gone.
Should've stayed home, drowned myself in work or silence or guilt.
But instead, I went to him.
I told myself it was to return the bag. That was the excuse I clung to like a lifeline. But the moment he opened it, the moment I saw what was inside—
The necklace, the sketchbook, the quiet tremble in his voice—
I knew I was lying to myself.
He still remembered.
Even after everything.
Even after me.
I asked him to wear the necklace for me, and when he did, my breath caught. It felt like everything I'd tried to bury—
Everything I'd sacrificed to keep him safe—
Was now rising to the surface.
And I was too tired to fight it anymore.
Later that night, the alcohol made it easier to walk back through Dre's door. I wasn't supposed to stay. But he was there. Warm. Real. Familiar. And before I could think, I was sitting, talking and I dozed off when he touched me, and when I woke, I was touching him. Kissing him. Apologizing with my body in ways I couldn't with words.
And he didn't stop me.
It... it wasn't just sex.
It was everything I couldn't say out loud.
It was desperation, longing, regret—
And the love I'd been denying since the moment they took him away from me.
We didn't sleep much.
Didn't talk much either.
We just existed in that space together, like maybe if we held on long enough, time would pause and let us have this one thing.
By the time morning came, and the screams echoed from the living room, reality slammed back into place.
Dre's sobs. The news. The overdose. And somehow, through all that chaos, I still only noticed one thing—
He was next to me. Still close. Still real.
But it didn't last.
"I should head home," I said, and the words nearly choked me. I kissed him. Hugged him longer than I should have. Tried to ignore the way my hands didn't want to let go.
"I'll send my brother to you," I added because I didn't trust myself to come back too soon.
Because if I did...
I wasn't sure I'd leave again.
And as I walked away, clothes still rumpled, heart still raw— I knew I'd left more than just memories in that room. I'd left a piece of myself with him. And I wasn't sure I'd ever get it back.
The moment I stepped out of the car, I barely had time to shut the door before my brother was in my face.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed, gripping my arm and dragging me toward the porch like I was some disobedient child.
I didn't even resist.
"You were with him, weren't you?" he snapped. "Don't lie. I can smell the regret and shame on you."
I didn't answer, just looked at him.
He shook his head, furious. "Do you remember what mother said? What she promised she'd do to him if you ever saw him again?"
I looked away, jaw clenched. "I remember," I said quietly, voice already cracking.
"She swore she'd ruin him. Again. That she'd drag him back into the dark if you so much as breathed his name."
"I know," I whispered, shutting my eyes tightly. "I know. I just—"
"Then why?" he cut in, his voice now low, almost trembling with something between anger and heartbreak. "Why did you go back?"
I exhaled slowly, my chest tight. "I don't know," I said honestly. "I don't know why I went. My feet just... moved. My heart couldn't stop. It was supposed to be one last goodbye, but the second I saw him—" My voice cracked fully now, "—it wasn't goodbye anymore. It never was."
My brother stared at me for a long second, the disappointment heavy in his eyes. But there was something else too. Pity, maybe. Or understanding.
He sighed and looked away. "You're playing with fire, Wang. And he's the one who'll burn."
"I know," I said again. "But last night... for a while, it felt like the fire was home."
My brother looked at me long and hard, like he was trying to read something in my expression. Like he could sense that behind the guilt I was faking... there was something darker.
"Did you know anything about Damian and Black?" he asked suddenly, voice cautious.
I shook my head slowly. "No. I don't," I said, keeping my tone steady, my eyes just the right amount of sad. "I feel bad for Dre," I added, softer this time, almost convincing myself.
He nodded, still watching me, but eventually let it go.
But inside me?
There was no guilt. No sorrow. No remorse.
Because I know what happened to them. Every detail. Every scream. Every desperate plea.
And I'd do it all over again.
If I had the chance to rewind time, to choose between justice and mercy—I'd still choose vengeance. Because they didn't just hurt Zhan. They broke us. And for that, I broke them back.
A small part of me feared what would happen if anyone ever found out. But a bigger part? It relished the silence, the power, the satisfaction of knowing the monsters had finally been buried—permanently.
I looked up at my brother and smiled faintly. "They're gone now. Nothing else matters."
And for the first time in a long time, I meant it.
I remember playing with them," I said quietly to myself, my eyes unfocused, locked on nothing as the memories drifted past like smoke—soft, untouchable.
I turned to Damian, my voice low but firm.
"If Dre replies to your message with a simple 'yes' or 'no'—just one message—I'll let you go."
He froze.
Panic flickered in his eyes before he spoke, his voice rushed and desperate.
"We're... we're not on good terms. Dre and I. He won't reply to me. Not now."
I said nothing, just stared, the silence between us thick with everything he wasn't saying.
And truthfully, Dre didn't reply.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Still nothing.
Damian kept checking his phone, eyes growing more frantic each time the screen stayed blank.
"I told you," he muttered, almost to himself. "He's not going to respond..."
I just nodded slowly, feeling the truth settle in my chest like cold water.
He had his chance. And he knew it.
And maybe that was the first real clue that he didn't love him like he said he did. Maybe he was waiting for someone else to do what he couldn't.
Or maybe he was just tired of surviving.
Either way, he never replied to the message.
And that gave me butterflies. That quiet, burning thrill in my chest told me I was doing what needed to be done. For Zhan. For everything they put him through. For all the nights he cried into silence.
Black, on the other hand, wasn't sentimental. He offered me cash.
Million of it.
"Just let me go," he begged.
And I took it. Every last note.
"I'm giving it to Zhan," I said, bitterness lacing my voice. "He deserves it more than you ever deserved to breathe."
Then I turned away. Cold. Silent. Calculated.
They never saw the poison in their drinks. Never thought the final party would be their last.
They choked—just like I planned.
No one cried. Not really.
And now, as I stood here recalling it all, I wasn't even sure if I wanted forgiveness. Because I didn't regret it.
I only regretted not doing it sooner.
I greeted my mom as soon as I entered the house.
She nodded, but the glint in her eyes said more than words ever could. Uncle Fengmian and Miss Yanli had already left—immediately after the verdict like they couldn't wait to get away. Uncle Fengmian gave me a brief pat on the shoulder, while Miss Yanli didn't even say goodbye. Just picked up her purse and walked out like it was another boardroom victory.
As stern as she is, I doubt any man would marry her. The woman's practically made of marble. Beautiful, yes, but cold in a way that could crack steel. They were my mother's mob dogs—hovering at a distance like shadows trained to bite at a signal.
I climbed the stairs, steps dragging beneath me like I was climbing a mountain. Reached my room.
Our room.
The one I now shared with Lusi.
She wasn't there, thankfully. Probably off arguing with my brother again or pretending to be the woman she thinks my mother wants her to be.
I didn't bother changing. Just dropped onto the bed, face down at first, and then slowly turned to my side.
And I let it happen.
The daydreams.
Zhan.
His smile was rare and uncertain, but so soft when it appeared. His eyes, those big, soulful eyes that made me feel seen even when I hated myself. The sound of his laugh—the real one—not the nervous, broken one they forced out of him. The way he clung to me last night like I was his anchor.
My chest ached.
I missed him like a man misses air. Like someone already drowning but still diving deeper.
Lusi's perfume still lingered faintly on the sheets.
But all I could smell was Zhan's skin.
All I could feel was his warmth. His breath on my neck. His fingers trailed over mine.
I shouldn't want him.
But gods help me... I did.
I didn't know how long I had been daydreaming—lost in the haze of memory and longing—before my brother entered the room. The door clicked open, then shut softly behind him.
"We're leaving tomorrow," he said, his voice low, almost reluctant. "Mom said to pack."
I blinked, turning slowly to face him from where I lay on the bed. "What? Why?" My voice was heavy with confusion.
He shrugged. "She has work to do and she won't let us stay. I guess you know why."
I scoffed and turned my back to him. "I don't need to pack."
There was a long silence. The kind that made the air thick between us.
Then I heard him sigh and sit down in the armchair across the room.
"You know," he began, "I used to think you were crazy for caring that much about him."
I didn't say anything.
"But now... I don't know. After everything that happened in court. The way he looked at you... the way you looked at him. It's like something neither of you could help."
I still didn't answer.
"I saw you this morning, Wang," he added, voice gentler now. "I've never seen you so broken. And it hurts me"
I closed my eyes, swallowing hard.
"I wanted to console you," he said, voice cracking slightly. "After everything. I wanted to tell you it was okay to feel like shit. That maybe you'd get over it. But the truth is... I don't think you will."
He stood, slowly crossing the room.
"You love him," he said. "And you're hurting. But Mom's not going to let this go. And no amount of consoling is going to change that."
I opened my eyes, meeting his.
"I don't want to be consoled," I said quietly. "I just want him."
He nodded. "I know. But I also know that no matter what I do... it's going to hurt him again."
He didn't have an answer for that. So he didn't try to give one.
Instead, he just sat beside me, quietly. Like he did when we were kids and I'd get in trouble, and he couldn't fix it but didn't want me to be alone.
Some things, we both understood, couldn't be fixed.
But they could be witnessed.
"I need you to do something for me," I finally said, breaking the quiet. My voice was low, steady, but thick with emotion.
My brother turned to look at me, his brows slightly furrowed, waiting.
"I have some cash. A lot. I want you to give it to Zhan."
He blinked. "Okay," he replied easily.
"It's in my car," I said, a sad smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "In the trunk."
"How much are we talking? Maybe I could just transfer it to him if it's easier," he offered, already pulling out his phone.
"A million dollars," I said.
He paused, looking up at me like he wasn't sure he heard right. "Okay... wow," he exhaled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "I'll take it to him. But I doubt immigration will let him walk past with that kind of cash."
"Dre will help him wire it to Canada," I said, already imagining how Zhan would look when he saw it—confused, probably. Suspicious. Maybe even angry. But it didn't matter. He deserved something good. Something better. Something I couldn't be.
My brother nodded, stood, and gave me one last look. "Better be on my way then," he said and walked out of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And I was alone again—with my guilt, my longing, and the love I couldn't keep.
The next morning came too fast.
By 9 a.m., we were at the airport—bags checked in, tickets printed, and silence stretching longer than necessary. The ride over had been quiet, only the sound of the engine and my mother occasionally reminding us to sit up straight or double-check our passports. Lusi was glued to her phone, her expression unreadable.
I stared out of the tinted car window, watching the blur of the city I was about to leave behind again. Everything felt both too heavy and too light like I was floating in a version of my life that didn't belong to me.
When we stepped out of the car, the cool morning breeze hit me and I paused to take a breath. My brother moved ahead with our carry-ons, while my mother, sharp-eyed and composed, gave directions like she was running a company briefing.
I lagged on purpose.
As we walked through the terminal, I found myself scanning the crowd. Not for anyone in particular—or maybe just for him. For Zhan. As if some miracle would have him appear through the crowd, with that look of confused defiance on his face. As if things could still be undone. But of course, he wasn't there.
He was probably asleep in Dre's guest room, far from here, far from me. Maybe dreaming. Maybe not thinking about me at all.
"Wang!" my brother called, snapping me out of it. He waved me forward. "We're at the gate!"
I adjusted my backpack and walked faster, trying to shake the ache out of my chest. But it clung, persistent.
"Let's just get through this flight," I muttered to myself.
But in my heart, I knew it wouldn't be the flight that haunted me. It would be what I left behind.
The announcement echoed through the terminal: "Flight 317 to Washington has been delayed by four hours due to maintenance checks."
Groans followed. My father didn't flinch. He simply leaned back and started discussing politics with some old friend he bumped into—like always as if nothing ever touched him. My brother was tapping on his phone, probably texting, I didn't care what Lusi did. And me?
My thoughts were already thousands of miles away. Two hours crawled by. I stared at nothing, answered no one, and just kept replaying everything—Zhan's smile, his silence, the pain in his eyes when I left.
"Let's go to the lounge and grab breakfast while we wait," my brother suggested eventually.
I followed silently, dragging my feet, more out of instinct than interest. The lounge was too bright, too polished, too fake. But as we walked in, something tugged at me. Like an invisible thread snapped tight in my chest.
And then I saw him.
Through the thick glass pane that overlooked the departure section, with Dre walking beside him and a pair of heavy bags dragging behind them.
He looked exhausted. Pale. Distant. But still him.
Zhan.
I didn't think.
I just ran.
Down the stairs, past the café, through the glass doors into the open corridor. Security barely registered. My heart thundered in my ears. I couldn't even hear my name being called behind me.
I only saw him.
I pushed through the last barrier, my chest tight and breathing shallow, like I hadn't been breathing since I saw him.
"Zhan!" I called out.
He stopped mid-step. Dre turned too, confused at first—then surprised. Zhan blinked, his brows knitting like he wasn't sure if I was real or a ghost. The fatigue on his face twisted into something unreadable.
I slowed as I approached, the weight of everything we'd been through pressing hard on my shoulders.
"Wang," he said quietly, almost like a sigh.
I wanted to touch him, to hold him, to explain—but what would I even say?
"I thought you already left," he added, glancing at my shirt like he was trying to avoid my eyes.
"Our flight was delayed," I replied, voice hoarse.
He gave a small nod, fingers tightening slightly on the handle of his bag. Dre stepped aside a little as if sensing he should give us space.
"I—" I began, but the words stuck. My mouth opened and closed. Everything I rehearsed in my room, in my dreams, dissolved.
"I saw you through the glass," I said finally. "And I ran."
Zhan looked at me again, this time his eyes softer. "Why?"
I swallowed. "Because I couldn't leave. Not like that. Not without seeing you again. Not knowing if you're okay."
He stared at me for a long moment before exhaling. "I'm not okay."
The honesty in his voice cracked something inside me.
"But I'm surviving," he added, trying to smile. "And you...? You're married."
"No," I said quickly. "No vows. Just rings. Just arrangements. Nothing real."
He didn't respond, just kept watching me, eyes unreadable now.
"I left something with my brother for you," I continued, trying to breathe through the knot in my throat. "Cash. To start over, or stay, or whatever you need."
"I don't want your money," he whispered.
"I know," I said. "But I needed to do something. I don't know how to fix this."
"Then don't," he said, voice low. "Don't try to fix what's broken. Just... let me go."
My heart dropped.
He turned away before I could speak, gripping the handle of his bag again. Dre gave me a sad glance, then followed behind him.
I couldn't hold it in anymore. I rushed forward and grabbed his hand.
He turned to face me, jaw tight, eyes flickering with something raw.
"I'm not saying goodbye," he hissed.
"I'd never," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Not in my wildest dreams."
"I can't stand the thought of you going to prison for the rest of your life," I said, voice shaking. "I don't regret my decision."
"Does my decision matter?" he asked, pain lacing his words.
"It didn't. Not when I could do something to stop it," I replied firmly.
"You shouldn't have," he hissed, his voice raw with emotion.
"I'd do it again if I had to," I hissed back, releasing his hand.
He gave a sad smile—and it broke every piece of bone I've in my body.
"I love you. I'll always love you," he said softly.
"I'll always love you too," I whispered. "And no one—no one—will ever take your place." I hit my chest where it ached as if the pain would listen.
Zhan looked at me for a long, heavy moment. His lips trembled, his eyes glassy.
"This isn't goodbye," he said, his voice cracking. "It's not." Tears streamed silently down his face, and mine weren't far behind.
And then he turned.
I wanted to call him back, to scream, to run after him. But my legs wouldn't move. I just stood there, watching him walk away, his shoulders stiff, his steps slow—like each one tore him apart.
The distance between us kept growing—like a slow unraveling. Step by step, word by unsaid word.
And the silence that followed...
It felt louder than any goodbye.
I didn't chase.
He didn't stop.
Just two people standing on opposite sides of a broken world.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally turned and went upstairs.
"What did I say?" my mom hissed.
"Let the boy be," my dad snapped, easing my brother's tense expression. "He did everything you asked him, and that looked like a goodbye to me."
Lusi just rolled her eyes, unimpressed by all the drama.
I sat on the chair, my back to the glass door, and ordered a dirty—strong, and bitter martini, just like my mood. I drank in silence, letting it burn down my throat, grounding me in the moment I was trying not to fall apart.
I picked up my phone and typed a message to Dre:
"Take care of him for me. And... send my regards to his family."
His reply came almost immediately.
"That's why I'm going with him. I don't have anything here anyway."
I stared at the screen for a second, heart heavy but strangely comforted.
"Thank you," I texted back, a small smile tugging at my lips. Then I turned off my phone, shutting out the world—just for a while.
Once we got on the plane, I didn't say a word. I just drank until the edge dulled, then leaned back and let sleep take me—heavy, dreamless, and necessary.