"Julian, there’s something I want to tell you."

Julian looked at her.

Clara lowered her head, her fingers gently stroking the edge of the wine glass. "I’ve liked you since I was little," she said. "You know that."

Julian didn't speak.

"We grew up together, played together, went to school together. I thought we would always be together." She looked up at him. "But then you met her."

Julian’s brow furrowed slightly. "Someone like her," Clara’s voice was soft, "doesn't belong in our world. She has money, status, she has her own world. Julian, you and I—we belong together."

Julian wanted to say something, opened his mouth, but realized his tongue felt slightly numb.

"When she was pursuing you, did you think she was sincere?" Clara continued. "Someone like that—a wealthy heiress—what could she possibly lack? She was just looking for a thrill. Once the novelty wore off, she wouldn't want you anymore."

Julian wanted to refute her, but he couldn't speak; his consciousness began to blur. Something wasn't right.

He jerked his head up, staring at Clara.

Clara was still talking, still smiling, but her face began to sway in his vision, beginning to blur.

"You..."

Julian braced himself against the table to stand, but his legs went weak, and he sank back down.

Clara looked at him, her expression shifting. "Julian?" She stood up and walked to his side. "What's wrong?"

Julian grabbed her hand, clutching it tightly. "Did you drug me?"

Clara didn't speak; she leaned down, getting closer to him.

"Julian, we’ve known each other for so many years. Why isn't it me you ended up with?"

Julian tried to push her away, but his hands had no strength left.

Clara’s face drew nearer and nearer; she leaned down to kiss him.

Julian bit his tongue hard.

Pain.

The taste of blood spread in his mouth. That sharp pain cleared his head for a second. He used every ounce of his remaining strength to shove her away.

Clara stumbled and fell to the floor, stunned.

Julian staggered to his feet and lunged toward the bathroom.

The door slammed shut and locked from the inside.

He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water desperately onto his face. Once, twice, three times. Water ran down his neck, into his collar, but his body still burned as if it were on fire.

It was useless. He looked up at himself in the mirror. His face was unnaturally flushed, his eyes bloodshot; he felt as though he were about to combust.

He opened the door, rushed into the kitchen, pulled open the refrigerator, and dumped out all the ice cubes.

Then, he went back to the bathroom, filled the bathtub with cold water, and dumped in all the ice.

He stepped inside.

The icy water washed over his body, over his waist, over his chest. The cold made him shiver, made his teeth chatter, made him feel as though he were about to die.

But it was still better than that feeling of burning alive.

He leaned back in the bathtub, gasping for air.

The door was knocked on.

"Julian," Clara’s voice came from outside, filled with tearful sobs. "Julian, are you okay?"

Julian didn't speak. "Julian, I didn't mean to, I just love you too much—what did I do wrong?"

Julian closed his eyes.

After a long time, he spoke. His voice was very hoarse.

"I’ll settle the score with you, little by little."

There was a second of silence outside.

"You colluded with the kidnappers," he said. "You calculated that I would definitely believe your words."

Julian’s voice echoed in the bathroom. "You calculated that I would protect you, trust you, and push her away."

Clara didn't speak.

"You were wrong," Julian said. "She is a wealthy heiress, but she has never disdained to use such tactics to harm others."

Then Clara’s voice rang out, very softly: "You’ve already divorced, Julian. You only have me now."

Julian was stunned.

The water in the bathtub was very cold, so cold it stiffened his whole body, but that sentence was colder than the water.

Julian leaned back in the tub, the icy water rising to his chin, his lips turning purple, his whole body shaking.

But he didn't get up.

Julian closed his eyes.

The icy water rose over the corners of his mouth, over his lips, over his nose.

He didn't move. He thought, let it be, but in the end, he sat up.

Because he remembered that Nina hadn't been found yet.

He still owed Nina an apology; he couldn't die yet.

He braced himself against the edge of the tub, stood up, stepped out, and collapsed onto the floor.

Chapter 14

Daylight came.

Julian sat on the sofa, having not slept all night. His clothes were still wet, his hair was still wet, and he looked as if he had been pulled out of the water. He didn't change, didn't move, just sat there, staring at the phone on the coffee table.

The phone never rang.

He didn't know how long he had sat there. The light outside the window shifted from grey to bright, from bright to blinding. He blinked once, then twice; his eye sockets ached from dryness.

Suddenly, a rapid knocking sounded at the door.

Bang, bang, bang.

Julian was stunned for a moment and stood up. His legs were a bit weak; he braced himself against the wall and walked over to open the door.

Several police officers stood outside.

"Julian, right?" The lead officer flashed his ID. "Is Clara here?"

Julian didn't speak, stepping aside to let them in.

The officers surged inside.

Clara stood up from the sofa, her face instantly turning pale.

"Clara," an officer walked over, "you are suspected of intentional homicide. Come with us."

Clara took a step back, bumping into the sofa.

"I didn't," her voice trembled. "You’ve made a mistake."

The officer ignored her and produced a pair of handcuffs.

Clara panicked. She turned her head toward Julian, her eyes filled with tears, looking pitiful beyond measure.

"Julian," her voice was filled with terror. "Julian, save me. I really didn't do it—please, tell them."

She ran toward him, reaching out to grab his sleeve.

Julian stood at the doorway, watching her run over.

Watching her cry, watching her outstretched hand.

He stepped aside.

Clara’s hand grasped at thin air. She was stunned, looking up at him.

Julian didn't look at her.

The officer walked over, grabbed Clara’s arm, and cuffed her. Clara struggled, unable to break free, tears streaming down her face.

"Julian! You can't do this! We grew up together! Are you just going to abandon me?"

Julian stood there, unmoving.

Another officer walked over, holding a tablet.

"Are you her family member?" he asked Julian.

The officer glanced at him and didn't ask again. He tapped a video on the tablet and turned the screen around.

"This is the backstage surveillance from the theater. Do you want to take a look?"

Clara saw the footage and stopped struggling.

In the video, at 2:00 AM, she sneaked into the prop room. She walked to the water tank, squatted down, and moved her hands over the lock for a long time.

The scene cut to another angle. On the day of the performance, she appeared at the entrance of the prop room, carrying a plastic bag. She pushed the door open, entered, and came out three minutes later—the plastic bag was gone.

The scene cut again. The point of origin for the fire. In the corner of the prop room, just as the flames flared up, she happened to be walking away. She glanced back once, then quickened her pace and disappeared from the frame.

Clara stood there, her face ashen.

"No," she muttered. "That’s not it."

No one paid her any mind.

The video continued to play.

The final frame: inside the water tank, Nina was trapped.

Julian stared at that frame.

He saw her face through the glass, her expression unclear.

He saw her hands patting the glass—each pat slower than the one before. He saw her finally stop, just drifting there, looking in a certain direction.

That direction—

Julian remembered where he had been that day.

He had heard Clara call his name, so he ran. He ran toward the backstage, ran toward the fire, ran toward the voice calling his name. When he ran, he hadn't looked back once.

Julian stood in place, as if all his strength had been drained away. He stared at the screen, unmoving.

Clara was led out by the police. She was still crying, still shouting "Julian," and still struggling to look back at him.

"Julian! Say something! Are you really going to let them arrest me? We grew up together!"

"Save me! Julian! Save me!"

When Clara was led past him, she suddenly struggled violently. She broke free from the officer’s grip, lunged at Julian, fell to her knees, and grabbed his pant leg.

"Julian, I’m begging you—look at how we grew up together—please help me..."