She suddenly remembered a rainy night many years ago when he had stood before her just as drenched, clutching the first bit of money he had earned from part-time work, his eyes shining brightly:

"Clara, when I have money in the future, I promise I won’t let you catch another drop of rain."

Back then, they both believed that love could conquer everything in the world.

Clara curled the corners of her mouth slightly, polite yet distant:

"Long time no see, Julian Vance. Although, I go by Clara Wynter now."

"Clara Wynter..."

Julian repeated the name, his voice rasping. "Which Clara? Which Wynter?"

"Clara for light, Wynter for the cold season," she replied with indifference. "Eight years ago, I was rescued from the sea, and a kind soul took me in."

"He said he hoped I could bid farewell to the past and see a new dawn."

Julian’s body swayed almost imperceptibly.

He stared at her, his gaze wandering from her features down to the wheelchair, finally resting on her scarred hands gripping the armrests.

"You’re alive..." His voice shook violently. "Why didn't you come back to find me?"

Clara did not answer.

She simply looked at him—the man who had once occupied her entire youth and then personally pushed her into hell.

The rain began to let up, and the sky brightened slightly. The rumble of an approaching subway train echoed from a distance.

"I have to go."

Clara turned her wheelchair.

Watching her distant back, Julian’s Adam's apple bobbed heavily. He suddenly strode forward and blocked her path.

"This is inconvenient for you. Let me take you."

"No need, thank you."

Clara controlled her wheelchair and bypassed him.

"Clara!"

Julian raised his voice. "Eight years! A whole eight years! Don't you have anything you want to say to me?"

The pale lights of the subway entrance shone down.

Clara stopped at the boundary of light and shadow and slowly turned her head.

"No."

One word. Weightless, yet like two dull knives, it stabbed precisely into Julian’s heart.

Julian wanted to say more; his lips moved, but no sound came out.

He could only watch as a staff member helped her push the wheelchair, bit by bit, into the shadows of the subway station.

Just as her figure was about to disappear, Julian suddenly shouted with all his might:

"Clara!"

Clara instinctively turned back.

Across a distance of a dozen meters, she saw Julian’s lips moving.

It was noisy, and she couldn't hear what he was saying. She could only see his bloodshot eyes and trembling shoulders.

Clara smiled at him politely, pointed to her right ear, and silently mouthed the words:

"I’m sorry, I can’t hear you."

Then she turned and disappeared into the depths of the subway entrance.

Julian froze in place, the umbrella in his hand falling to the ground with a thud.

He wanted to tell her: Clara, I’ve been looking for you for eight years.

For eight years, he had woken up countless times in the middle of the night, his dreams filled with the image of her covered in blood.

He had sent people to dredge the entire area of the sea, only to find a single canvas shoe bleached white by the water.

He thought she was truly gone, that he would have to live in regret for the rest of his life.

But she was alive.

She was alive, yet she was no longer his Clara.

She wasn't even... willing to hear another word from him.

Chapter 3

9:30 PM. Clara Wynter arrived at the station right on time.

The corridor was exceptionally quiet, save for the faint whirring of her wheelchair.

However, as she turned the corner, she saw that familiar figure.

Julian Vance had changed into a dark gray suit. The crisp, structured fabric accentuated the sharp lines of his shoulders.

He was leaning slightly toward Jane, listening to her speak, but the moment he heard the sound of the wheels, he spun around.

Even behind his sunglasses, his gaze fell directly upon her.

"Clara, you’re finally here!"

Jane greeted her enthusiastically. "This is our special guest for tonight, Mr. Vance. Mr. Vance, this is our star host, Clara Wynter."

Julian slowly took off his sunglasses, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Host Clara, a pleasure to meet you."

Clara gripped the armrests of her wheelchair, her face forming a professional smile.

"Mr. Vance, the pleasure is mine. I never imagined the anonymous listener from last night would be the heir to the Vance Group."

Her tone was calm, devoid of any discernible emotion.

Jane, oblivious to the undercurrents between the two, continued her excited introduction:

"Mr. Vance is not only willing to share the full story, but he has also offered to do a live dialogue with you!"

"Clara, this is the biggest guest we've had since the show started!"

"Jane," Clara interrupted suddenly. "Actually, I can tell the rest of that story myself."

"How would you know it?" Jane was stunned.

Clara looked at Julian, her words measured and clear.

"Because the girl in that story is an old friend of mine."

The air froze instantly.

Julian’s pupils contracted sharply, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Jane looked from Clara to Julian and back again, finally sensing that the atmosphere was off.

She gave a forced laugh. "Well... that’s even better! A story told by an acquaintance carries more emotion! I’ll go get everything ready. You two talk!"

She hurried away, leaving the two of them in a silent confrontation.

"How... how have you been?" Julian was the first to speak.

"Very well," Clara replied flatly, turning her wheelchair toward the studio. "I have a job, I have a daughter, and my life is peaceful."

"A daughter..." Julian repeated the word, stepping forward to keep pace with her. "How... how old is she?"

"Seven."

Clara didn't look back. "Mr. Vance, if there’s nothing else, I need to prepare."

"The broadcast starts at ten. I can’t keep the listeners waiting."

"Clara!" Julian called out to her.

Clara stopped, but still did not turn.

"I..." His voice caught. "Did you hear what I said in the studio last night?"

Clara remained silent for a few seconds before slowly turning around.

"Which part are you referring to, Mr. Vance? The part where you asked if I hated you, or the part where you asked why I never came back to find you?"

Julian opened his mouth, but his throat felt as if it were being choked, unable to produce a single sound.

"As for whether I hate you, I answered that last night. As for why I didn't come back..."

She gave a soft, thin smile. "Why would someone who has already died once go back... to the person who killed her?"

Having said that, she ignored Julian's instantly ashen face, pushed her wheelchair, and entered the studio.

Julian stood frozen, staring at her back. For a moment, he felt transported back to eight years ago, when Clara had turned away from him in exactly the same way.

Back then, she was dragging a suitcase. She had looked back at him once, her eyes filled with shattered light.

She had said, "Julian, the thing I regret most in this life is loving you."

At the time, he hadn't taken it seriously, thinking she was just throwing a tantrum.

It wasn't until later, when he found that single canvas shoe bleached white by the sea, that he realized some departures last a lifetime.

9:55 PM. The broadcast was about to begin.

Despite Clara's clear refusal of a dialogue, Julian followed the staff into the studio under the dual persuasion of Jane and the station director.

He looked at the equipment in the room, appearing somewhat dazed.

"A long time ago... you said you wanted to be a broadcaster. I didn't expect you to actually make it happen."

Clara only gave a faint "mm" and continued her pre-broadcast checks.

Julian's gaze, however, barely left her.

The way she adjusted her headset, the movement of her fingers on the microphone, even the curve of her eyelashes when she looked down—it all overlapped with his memory of her, yet was different in every way.

Just before going live, he suddenly spoke: "Maybe I should be the one to tell the story. I’m afraid you'll..."

Clara smiled slightly, cutting him off. "Old wounds don't hurt anymore. There’s no harm in uncovering them."

Julian’s expression became incredibly complex. His lips moved several times, but ultimately, he couldn't utter a word.

Clara stopped looking at him and put on her headset. Her finger hovered over the 'on-air' button for a second before she pressed it down.

Amidst the smooth, soothing background music, she spoke into the microphone with a gentle and calm voice:

"Good evening, dear listeners. Welcome to this special live broadcast of 'Deep Night Whispers.' I am your host, Clara Wynter."

"Tonight, I will tell the complete story that everyone was concerned about last night."