Chapter 9
Nathan, his assistant, hesitated like he was struggling to find the right words. “Miss
Sullivan… has left Silvercrest.”
Left?
No. That was impossible.
They were supposed to be together. She was still hurt–how could she just leave? Cassidy, watching Landon’s frantic expression, felt something twist inside her. Jealousy? Panic? She wasn’t sure, but the air between them had shifted. And she hated it.
“Landon, I’m in pain,” Cassidy whispered, her voice trembling, playing the victim flawlessly.
But for the first time, Landon wasn’t listening.
For the first time, he hesitated.
After spending the night at the hospital, Landon couldn’t hold it in any longer. He had to go back to the Riverside Estate.
But when he got there, the house was empty.
The place was eerily silent as if Zara had never lived there. Her scent, the soft echo of her voice–everything was gone, erased overnight. The emptiness in the air felt suffocating, and a sharp, unfamiliar panic gripped him.
He had never believed she’d actually leave him. Not for good. Zara had always been patient, always forgiving.
No matter how cold or distant he had been, she had stayed. But now, as he stood there, staring out at the hazy nightscape of Silvercrest, memories of their first year together came flooding back.
It was a company retreat.
Zara had boldly confessed her feelings, singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star‘ to him, laughing the whole time. Back then, he had brushed it off, thinking of it as just another moment in their story–nothing more, nothing less. But now, every small, trivial thing she had done suddenly felt like a dagger to his chest.
He had pushed her away, thinking she would always stay. That no matter what, she would never really leave. But he had underestimated her.
Zara was the type of person who, once she made up her mind, never looked back.
A dull ache settled in his chest, spreading like a slow poison. He glanced down at his phone. Dozens of missed calls–all from Cassidy. His fingers hovered over the screen, but his eyes were drawn to another chat window.
Empty.
No texts. No calls. Nothing from Zara.
A sharp irritation flared inside him, bitter and unrelenting. He didn’t bother answering Cassidy. Instead, he poured himself a drink, but the alcohol did nothing to dull the ache
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gnawing at him.
By midnight, his stomach began to hurt–a dull, relentless pain he couldn’t shake.
His first instinct was to call Zara. She always knew what to do. She had made him millet. porridge a hundred times before, always scolding him but never failing to take care of him.
But this time, she wasn’t there.
She was gone.
The realization slammed into him like a freight train. A feverish haze settled over his mind, and for a brief moment, he swore he saw her–a memory, blurred and dreamlike.
A girl with braided hair, riding a horse across the Westland prairie. Their first trip together. The golden sun setting behind her, the wind in her hair.
What a beautiful memory.
Through the pain, he let out a bitter, shaky laugh, his voice hoarse and empty. “Zara, I miss you so much…
Meanwhile, Zara was already on a plane, heading back to Westfield.
By the time she landed, her suitcase dragging behind her, the city’s biting cold hit her like a slap to the face. Compared to Silvercrest, Westfield was sharper and more unforgiving.
The chill seeped through her sleeves, making her shiver involuntarily.
‘It’s so cold here‘, she thought, watching her breath form in the air.
And then, just beyond the bustling crowd, she saw him.
Julian.
He stood there, waiting, his presence like a splash of warmth against the gray backdrop of the airport. His easy smile cut through the chilly air, his messy fringe falling slightly over his sharp brows, giving him a look of relaxed amusement–like he was always in on some
secret.
“Zara, you’re here.” His voice was warm and cozy–exactly how she remembered it.
Nodding, she smiled and handed him her suitcase. “Julian, you arrived right on time. It’s been years since we last saw each other. You’ve grown into a proper young man now. That’s good.”
Julian let out a soft hum, rubbing the back of his neck. A faint blush crept up his skin, though he still looked effortlessly composed.
“Come on, let’s go,” he said, grabbing her suitcase. “You came back at the perfect time. Maggie’s making dinner for you tonight–how about it?”
At twenty–four, Julian was already more mature than his age suggested, but around Zara, he always seemed to have endless things to say. His presence was easy, and familiar, like slipping into an old favorite sweater.
As they drove through the city, Zara found herself talking more than usual. She wasn’t usually chatty, but something about being back, something about Julian, made her feel
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lighter–like she could finally breathe again.
By the time they arrived at the Hayes Family Courtyard, it was late. The house was quiet, save for the low hum coming from the kitchen.
Inside, her grandfather stood over a boiling pot of herbal medicine, the steam rising in thick, curling ribbons.
Julian had been a sickly child, raised on a strict regimen of medicine. It had been a constant in his life, something he had never quite escaped.
When he saw his grandfather, still tending to the same concoctions, his expression shifted -subtle, but noticeable.
“Grandpa,” he said softly, his voice tight. “I’m fine now. I don’t need to drink this anymore.”
His grandfather didn’t look up from the pot, but his hand lingered over the ladle, a quiet, defiance in the gesture.
