Chapter 3

I let out a slow breath, quietly studying the man standing before me.

Wealth must be nice. Time hadn't left a single mark on this handsome man's face.

But it had left me with cracked hands, chin-length hair cut purely for convenience, and ink permanently stained under my fingernails.

I gently slid the black card back to him.

"There's no need, Mr. Harrington. My life is fine as it is."

"I have food, shelter, and my freedom. I don't steal, and I don't beg. I earn my own living."

But James stubbornly kept his hand extended.

"Just take it as... my compensation. Take the money, let go of the grudge, and we can call it even."

I looked at him, slightly amused.

The proud James had actually learned how to compensate someone.

He used to never bow his head to anyone.

"Then it's even less necessary. I saved your life because you were my fiancé. I went to prison because I assaulted a pack member. We don't owe each other a thing."

James clenched his fists, his eyes locked onto mine.

It was as if he was trying to verify over and over that the woman standing in front of him was truly Emily.

Finally, he slowly lowered his gaze, a glint of moisture shining in his eyes.

"Emily... you feel like a complete stranger to me."

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

"It's been years. Of course I am."

"Back then... I lost control of my emotions," he rasped, his voice cracking slightly. "For all these years, I kept thinking... if you hadn't committed that crime, I would have married you out of guilt. I would have treated you twice as well..."

I stayed silent, letting the ticking of the clock stretch the quietness into infinity.

"Everyone has their own path," I said, pulling a lollipop from my pocket and popping it into my mouth. "Don't look back on things you chose to do."

"You—"

My blunt response left him speechless. After a long pause, he snapped in frustration:

"You haven't changed a bit. Still as stubborn and hard-headed as ever!"

I nodded cheerfully. "My neighbors say the same thing."

"Emmy!"

James clenched his fists, struggling for a long moment before suddenly uttering my old nickname.

I froze for a split second. The way he said those two syllables was exactly how he used to.

Seeing my distraction, his tone softened.

"If you won't accept my money, I can talk to your father for you. You probably don't know, but he was diagnosed with chronic wolfsbane poisoning. He doesn't have much time left."

"If you beg for his forgiveness now, you can still get a share of his estate. You'll never have to work a day in your life..."

"Really?" I smiled, genuinely pleased. "Karma finally caught up to him."

Losing his patience after being deflected again and again, James grabbed my arm, trying to drag me toward his car.

"Emily, stop being so stubborn!"

"Look at yourself! Look at what you've become!"

"Renting a tiny, dark apartment, doing dirty, exhausting tattoo work!"

"Eating junk food! Do you think living like this makes you look cool or independent? Do you think this is going to impress anyone?"

"You're just a bottom-tier tattoo artist! The absolute lowest of the low!"

I looked down at myself.

My overalls were covered in ink, my hair was in a messy ponytail, and I probably had dirt on my face.

I replied honestly:

"It's not that bad. At least my face is clean. Unlike some people..."

James flinched as if I'd struck a nerve, his face turning bright red.

"Isabella's face is completely healed! Even with the scars, makeup covers them perfectly!"

"But you? You smell like cheap ink, and your hands are rough as sandpaper! Who would ever want you like this!"

Right then, the glass door creaked open again.

Two kids—a boy and a girl—dashed inside like little rockets...