Tristan Grayson finished applying the ointnt and placed it on the table. He turned back to pull the blanket over her, but his hands stopped when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the scar not far from her chest.
The image of her pulling the trigger, attempting suicide right in front of him, flashed through his mind...
Even if she forgave him, the wound from the past could never truly be erased. This scar would never disappear, to say nothing of the heartache that had festered for so many, many years...
’How stupid could he be, asking her to forgive him...’
A self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips as his hand, seemingly with a will of its own, reached out to caress her scar...
His touch startled Mika Sumrs. She snapped her eyes open, turned, and stared directly into Tristan Grayson’s eyes.
Seeing that Mika was awake, Tristan Grayson panicked and tried to pull his hand back. But Mika shot her own hand out, grabbing his. "What are you doing?" she asked coldly.
"I..." Tristan Grayson looked conflicted, unsure of what to say.
Mika Sumrs held Tristan Grayson’s right hand, her brow furrowed. His hand wasn’t as smooth as it used to be. It felt rough, and sothing in his palm seed to be chafing against her skin.
Mika Sumrs sat up and, before Tristan Grayson could react, flipped his hand over. But when she saw the gnarled scar in his palm, her expression soured, and she opened her mouth to ask about it.
But before she could get the words out, Tristan Grayson snatched his hand away.
His face grim, he turned away. "It’s late. You should get so rest."
With that, Tristan Grayson strode out of the room.
Watching Tristan Grayson’s retreating figure, Mika Sumrs’ brow furrowed. She lay back down, her thoughts a tangled ss.
After leaving the room, Tristan Grayson closed the door. He raised his hand, looking at the scar, and the scene flashed before his eyes once more.
Three years had passed, but he still often found he couldn’t put any strength into that hand.
’But he was glad, so very glad, that he had traded his hand for her life.’
The corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile, and he walked toward Kiki’s room.
That night, Mika Sumrs had a long, long dream. It was a terrible, terrible dream.
She dread of Maggie Monroe, and she dread of Tristan Grayson.
Maggie Monroe wasn’t dead. She was alive, and she had returned to take her revenge. And Tristan Grayson—his hands were wrapped around her neck, trying to strangle her.
She struggled in terror but couldn’t break free. Behind Tristan, Maggie Monroe stood watching, a triumphant smirk on her face.
Maggie brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and said with a mocking laugh, "You think Tristan Grayson could ever love you? In your dreams. You’ve always been nothing but my poor, pathetic substitute. Now that I’m back, you should just disappear."
She couldn’t get a single word out. Her throat was squeezed tight, Tristan giving her no chance to breathe.
She knew Tristan was going to kill her. She knew she was going to die. She stopped struggling, closed her eyes, and let tears of regret stream down her face.
’She wasn’t afraid of dying, but she didn’t want it to be at Tristan’s hands...’
Just as she stopped struggling and prepared to accept death, the terrifying feeling of suffocation didn’t co. Instead, it felt as if soone was holding her, holding her tight. In the haze, she heard a man’s voice. It seed like he was calling her na...
’Mika, you can’t die! You have to hold on! You have to keep holding on!’
’The voice was so familiar, but hearing it now seed utterly ridiculous. The sa man who was strangling her with his own hands was now begging her not to die?’
’What in the world was he trying to do? Save her just so he could kill her all over again?’
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