Chapter 2

The scrape on my leg seemed to sting worse now, but I didn't do anything about it. I just walked home slowly.

A post pushed to my phone. Someone had filmed the scene at the hospital and put it online, and now people were arguing over it.

【Some boyfriend Bartholomew Harding is. His girlfriend gets hurt and he ignores her to drive some other woman home?】

【You don't get it. He never liked his girlfriend much. Word is she clawed her way in with emotional blackmail.】

【With Bartholomew Harding's kind of standing, who could ever force him to be with a woman he doesn't like?】

【Guess she's just that good at playing people. Not a skill I could ever learn.】

Before long the post was deleted, and nothing about it could be found online anymore.

When I got home, Bartholomew was sitting in the living room, still on the phone.

"Scrub it clean. Peggy's on the rise right now, and she can't take a single hit from public opinion."

"Don't bother tracing the IP. Nobody but Regina would do something like this."

Only after he set the phone down did he notice I was back.

"Did you have someone film it?" He was asking me, but his tone left no room for doubt.

He didn't ask why I'd taken so long, didn't ask if it still hurt, didn't ask whether the things online had upset me. He'd already decided it was me. And I no longer had the strength to explain.

"No." It took me a long time to force out that one word.

"If it wasn't you, then who? You just wanted to steer public opinion so I'd feel guilty, didn't you? Too bad. I don't feel guilty at all."

"I really don't understand you. Haven't you already gotten what you wanted? The Harding name, my grandmother's affection. What is there left for you to feel sorry for yourself about?"

I couldn't hold it back. I started to cry.

"Yes, I do feel sorry for myself. You can care about anyone around you, but you'll never care about me."

"You always think I'm doing it on purpose, always think I'm faking pity to trap you, so you can dismiss everything I feel. But Peggy scrapes herself the tiniest bit and you ache over it. Why?"

Bartholomew paused, then said impatiently, "Because that's just the kind of person you are. Even when she's hurt she keeps smiling, terrified someone might feel guilty because of her. And you? You'll only ever put on that pitiful little act, playing weak so people feel sorry for you. That's the difference between you and her."

"And it's not just me. Everyone sees it. It was like this two years ago, and it's the same two years later. What gives you the right to demand that I care?"

I fought down the tears and asked, "And before? We've known each other so long. Don't you know what kind of person I am? Is this how you've always seen me?"

Bartholomew paused, then let out a cold laugh. "You've actually got the nerve to bring up before. I used to think you were different from the others too. Turns out you're even better at scheming than they are. Putting on an act in front of me all this time. Doesn't it get exhausting?"

I didn't want to argue with him anymore.

That night we slept in the same bed, but the distance between our hearts was already beyond measuring.

How long had we been living like this, sharing a bed and nothing else?

Bartholomew and I met in high school. We were deskmates for three years.

He came from money, and he was clean and dazzling, the kind of boy no shortage of girls wanted. I was one of them.

Now and then a boy like that would show me a care that went past ordinary classmates. He'd bring me breakfast, take me to see his grandmother. And even so, I only ever dared to bury how I felt deep inside.

Then, two years ago, his grandmother collapsed from a sudden heart attack, and I happened to be there and saved her.

Later I learned she'd seen through my girlhood feelings all along, and she was the one who decided to put us together.

Back then I thought it was a beginning. I never imagined it was the ending.

He took back every privilege he'd once given me, and for as long as I was with him, that was how long I bore the cold of his eyes.

I opened my phone and looked at the notice the hospital had sent to the group chat a few days ago about assembling a medical corps to go out to the frontier.

I'd never once considered it before. Because of Bartholomew.

I used to think that even if he wouldn't take a single step toward me, I could walk the whole distance between us alone. But now, I didn't want to take even one step toward him. Not even a little further forward, though that was all it would take for us to have what the world calls happiness.

I typed a few words into my phone: 【I'm in】.