Just after I hung up on Dylan, my phone chimed with Ethan’s name on the screen.

“Lydia, didn’t you say you’d treat me to dinner?”

“Sorry, I… I picked up some freelance work and have been busy rushing to finish illustrations,” I stammered on the phone.

“No matter how busy you are, you still need to eat dinner, right? Are you free tonight?”

“Sure. What do you like? I’ll make a reservation!”

“I’ve already taken care of it. Just show up tonight.”

“Alright, then… see you tonight.”

I hurriedly ended the call, my cheeks burning.

The wild scenes from that night flashed through my mind. Even now, closing my eyes, I could still smell the scent of Ethan’s cologne.

I didn’t know how to face him since we lost control that night. That’s why I hadn’t reached out.

What exactly was my relationship with Ethan now?

A mistake?

Friends with benefits?

I shook my head, telling myself not to overthink it for now.

Ethan is very handsome and humorous. When I’m with him, I feel relaxed and happy—that’s enough, isn’t it?

As for the kind of everlasting, passionate love, I shouldn’t dare to hope for that anymore.

Following the address he gave me, I arrived at the restaurant.

When the taxi stopped outside, my eyes turned teary.

Does he still remember?

A few years ago, when he received an acceptance letter from the nation’s top university, I worked part-time at a café for two months to treat him to this sushi restaurant.

“You said you didn’t like sushi, didn’t you?” I asked as I sat down.

“But you do.”

“And it’s not that I didn’t like it. It’s just that there were a lot of things—and you know—I couldn’t afford to like back then,” he said with a smile.

I caught the deeper meaning behind his words but didn’t know how to respond. Lowering my head, I stuffed a piece of salmon into my mouth.

He placed a peeled shrimp on my plate, then another.

“Thanks, you’re so thoughtful! No wonder your ex-girlfriend couldn’t get over you,” I joked.

Not like me, who was stuck in a seven-year, on-and-off relationship with Dylan.

In the first year, when he was pursuing me, Dylan treated me like a treasure. But as time passed, I became more like a housekeeper.

I spent more time cooking for Dylan than illustrating books.

Now, I realize I loved Dylan so much that I lost myself in him. How could I expect his love for me not to fade?

“How do you know about my ex-girlfriend?” Ethan interrupted my thoughts.

“Oh, I heard it from Olivia.”

I wasn’t about to tell Ethan that I had secretly looked up a ton of news about him online two days ago.

“I was only with her for six months, and we broke up a year ago,” he said, eager to clarify something. “I’ve been single for a year now…”

“I didn’t even ask,” I teased, amused by his serious tone.

That night, he took me to his home.

"You’re the first woman to ever come to my house," he emphasized.

His apartment wasn’t very big, and the decor was simple—nothing like what you’d expect from the home of a successful, wealthy businessman.

After I had showered, he carried me from the bathroom to the bed.

This time, he was gentle.

He blow-dried my hair, his fingers tracing my neck, sending tingling sensations down my spine.

Then he gently nibbled on my earlobe, kissing his way downward.

“Ethan…” I murmured his name.

“I love it when you say my name…”

Just as I was sinking into Ethan’s touch and kisses, the sharp ring of my phone broke the moment.

I reached for my phone on the bedside table and declined the call.

But the phone rang again. Irritated, I was about to turn it off when a gruesome photo popped up on the screen with a single message:

“Lydia, please, come back! Dylan met with an accident.”