Anton watched Adriana’s back as she spoke, and his brows slowly furrowed. Her response had been direct, sharp even, and it caught him off guard.
He had approached her with a smile, soft, friendly, charming, but she rejected him with a coldness that was impossible to ignore.
"Why do you act so hostile every ti I speak to you?" he asked, unable to restrain his frustration. "I haven’t done anything to you. If there’s a misunderstanding..."
Adriana closed her eyes for a brief mont and exhaled, as if summoning patience.
"I am not obligated to explain myself to a stranger," she replied calmly.
Anton smiled, trying to lighten the air. "We’re only strangers because we haven’t spoken enough. If we talk more, we’ll naturally get to know each other. That’s how people form bonds."
Adriana chuckled, not kindly, but as soone amused by sothing only she understood.
"You said we should talk more to get to know each other," she continued. "But tell , do I look like soone who wants to get to know you?"
There was no hesitation. No attempt to soften the blow. Just blunt truth.
Anton blinked. For a mont, he looked genuinely confused.
"So... you already have so impression of ? Or maybe you’ve misunderstood sothing..."
Adriana shook her head and finally looked directly into his eyes. Her gaze was clear, sharp, and entirely unbothered.
"I don’t misunderstand anything," she said. "If anything, I know more than I should."
She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to.
She simply collected her things and walked away.
Anton stood frozen for several seconds after she left, watching her elegant silhouette disappear down the corridor.
’Does she know sothing?’ he wondered, his eyes narrowing.
Then his phone chid. He glanced down.
A WhatsApp group lit up the screen. The group na: F*ckers of Whores.
He already knew what it would be. He tapped it open.
[Marc]: @Anton How long is that mission going to take?
[Felix]: Yeah bro, updates?
[Leo]: Don’t tell the famous Anton finally t soone he can’t handle! Lol!
Anton rolled his eyes. He typed back:
Anton: This target is complicated. I might not complete the mission on ti.
The reaction was imdiate.
Marc: No way. The Anton? Struggling?
Leo: The campus heart-stealer is losing ga? I never thought I’d see the day.
Felix: Is she ugly or sothing?
Anton frowned.
Anton: She’s not ugly. She’s... different. Too loyal. Too decisive. Already attached.
There was a pause in the group before chaos resud.
Marc: Ohhh, so you’re telling us the target has a boyfriend rich enough to keep her?
Leo: Money problem? That’s nothing. Your charm has broken engagents before.
Felix: Yeah, didn’t one heiress dump her fiancé for you last year? Anton never loses.
Anton’s jaw tightened. He stared at the screen, but the comnts began to feel grating rather than encouraging.
Because they didn’t know the full truth.
He typed slowly:
Anton: Adriana is not like those won. She won’t look at anyone else if she loves soone. That makes this... interesting.
He put his phone away at last.
His thoughts spiraled in a direction dark and exhilarated.
He didn’t believe in love. He had seen what love did... his mother blindly adored his father, a man who cheated repeatedly. She cried, begged, broke, yet stayed. That pathetic loyalty left a deep impression on him.
He didn’t want love. He wanted possession. A woman who stayed no matter what.
A woman who considered loyalty a promise stronger than common sense. A woman like Adriana.
If he married her... she would wait for him, forgive him, love him even when he didn’t deserve it.
The idea thrilled him. Dangerously.
’Yes,’ he thought, a slow, unsettling smile appearing. ’She is worth the chase.’
anwhile, Adriana walked across the university, brows furrowed.
She had heard rumors about Anton long before he appeared. She hadn’t even wanted to know, but whispers spread easily in universities.
A boy who flirts with wealthy young ladies as if collecting them. Ending engagents, stirring scandals, and moving on before consequences settle.
Picking won like choosing Pokémon cards. And every ti, he changed his thod, so the girl would feel like she was special, chosen uniquely.
His reputation was infamous.
So yes, she knew.
She knew more than he thought.
And she had no intention of entertaining him.
Across the city, at a film set wrapped in scaffolding and lighting rigs, Theodore waited.
It had been hours. He had been rehearsing lines, filming scenes, giving retakes, but his mind was sowhere else.
Eleanor. She hadn’t co.
He worried she had given up. The last ti they had co across each other, and Eleanor had given him a packet of chocolate, he had almost accepted it but held back.
He knew he had acted cold that day. He had forced himself to remain composed, to not crumble in front of her. But now...
Now he regretted it.
He was lost in thought when he saw soone approaching. A familiar silhouette, a lively cadence of steps.
"Aurora?"
She bead at him.
"Brother! I brought you sothing."
Theodore raised a brow, amused despite his mood. "You, sharing your snacks? Is the sun rising from the west today?"
Aurora laughed and dramatically placed her hand on her chest. "Hey! I am capable of being a loving sister. These chocolates were given to by Mia, and they were so good I thought of you imdiately."
She handed him a small transparent bag.
Chocolate cookies.
Theodore froze.
His expression shifted instantly, subtle, but unmistakable.
Because he recognized them.
The shape. The texture. The faint shine of lted chocolate near the edge.
The packaging was identical to the cookies Eleanor always brought him, the ones she claid she baked herself, saying she stayed up late making them because she wanted him to eat sothing sweet.
His voice ca out quiet. "Where did you get these?"
Aurora didn’t notice his tone. She smiled brightly. "There is a bakery at the far end of the city. Very small. Hardly anyone knows it. But Mia swears their cookies are the best she’s ever eaten."
Theodore’s fingers tightened around the plastic.
He tasted one.
The flavor hit instantly, sweet, soft, deep cocoa with the exact sa warm crumble.
This was the exact packaging... the exact flavor... the exact cookies Eleanor always claid she baked for him personally.
His mouth felt dry.
His breath hitched, sothing sharp lodging in his chest.
And Aurora kept speaking, oblivious to the emotional blow she had just delivered. Or maybe she pretended to be...
"Oh, and apparently, the bakery owner had so sort of agreent. A blonde woman promised to give him one million dollars after five years if he only sold these cookies only to her during that ti. That’s why no one knows the shop."
Theodore stopped breathing.
Blonde woman. One million. A secret contract.
He didn’t need more clues.
It was Eleanor.
The sa Eleanor who shyly told him she made the cookies herself.
The sa Eleanor who had looked nervous every ti he complinted them.
He stood. His chest tightened, confusion, betrayal, disbelief, pain twisting together.
"I need the address."
Aurora nodded without hesitation. The smile on her lips was small, almost invisible, but it was there. Sly. Satisfied.
She led him to the bakery.
Outside the little store, Theodore paused. His hands trembled.
He forced himself to enter.
The bakery slled like sugar and warmth. An elderly man stood behind the counter and greeted him politely.
Theodore walked forward and placed a thick stack of cash on the counter.
"This," he said quietly, "is yours. If you tell the truth."
The old man blinked, startled, then nodded slowly.
Theodore’s voice was steady, but strained.
"Did a blonde woman make a contract with you... restricting the sale of these cookies for five years?"
The bakery owner looked at the stack of money, more than ten thousand dollars, then lifted his gaze to Theodore’s expression.
And he understood instantly.
He sighed.
"Yes," the old man said. "There was such a woman."
Unsatisfied by re confirmation, Theodore pulled out his phone with trembling fingers and opened his gallery.
He found the picture of Eleanor he had taken long ago, one where she was smiling gently next to a window, sunlight soft against her face. He held the screen toward the bakery owner.
"Is it this woman?"
The bakery owner took one look. The recognition was imdiate. He nodded, not hesitantly, not vaguely, but with certainty.
"Yes. That’s her."
Theodore felt sothing in his chest snap, not loudly, not violently, but like a quiet tear in fabric that revealed a far deeper wound beneath.
His heart felt heavy, unbearably so, as if it were sinking inside him. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady the storm rising in his chest.
"Do you have proof?" he asked, voice low and strained.
The bakery owner’s expression changed instantly. Wariness clouded his face. He stepped back slightly and narrowed his eyes.
"Are you from her side?" the man asked cautiously.
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