Oliver and Luna both looked taken aback.

“Buying a plot in this cemetery?”

Oliver stepped forward and grabbed my wrist, forcing me to stop.

“Your grandmother’s far away on Pearl Shore Isle and your parents perished at sea. Who are you buying a plot for?”

I managed to push down the blood that had been rising in my throat, hid the photo I had been ready to place on the gravestone and spoke weakly.

“I just want to set up a memorial for my parents here.”

Oliver’s face, inches from mine, showed no sign of panic or urgency.

Instead, it was a mask of pure hatred and revulsion, his features contorted with fierce disdain.

“Anyone can buy this plot, but you— you’re not worthy.”

Oliver coldly wrenched his hand away.

“I absolutely forbid anyone connected to you from being near my family.”

I let out a bitter laugh.

Moments ago, I had foolishly clung to the hope that he might show a shred of concern or at least ask about my arrangements.

Even a simple, polite inquiry would have sufficed, given our shared history.

But it was clear now—after everything, only hatred was left between us.

Jack suddenly stepped away from me and grabbed Oliver by the collar.

“Enough! Oliver, I’ve put up with you for far too long.”

Jack’s imposing stature and commanding voice carried a powerful authority.

He roared, “I don’t want to get physical in front of your mother, but understand this: we don’t need your permission for anything we choose to do.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself, ex-husband.”

Without Jack's support, I felt my frail body on the verge of collapsing, my head pounding with a dull ache, swaying like a zombie.

Come on, you big fool, come back and help me out!

I couldn’t understand why everything became so complicated as soon as Oliver got involved.

All I wanted was to leave in peace.

With a weary sigh, I took a step forward and lightly patted Jack’s arm.

“Let’s forget it. Let’s go.”

I weakly turned back to the cemetery agent who had brought us to check out the plot of land.

“Sorry, I no longer want this plot. Are there any other available ones? Preferably as far away as possible.”

At my mention of "as far away as possible," Oliver’s face visibly darkened.

Meanwhile, the agent's expression grew increasingly troubled.

“Miss Enders, with the cemetery space being so tight, this is the only plot left that hasn’t been reserved.”

I hadn’t signed a contract with the agent yet.

I definitely didn’t want to be haunted by Oliver’s grimace every year on Angela’s memorial day.

If I ended up buried next to his mother, who’s to say he wouldn’t one day smash my headstone if he felt like it?

With no visitors, my grave would just become a neglected, sad ruin.

After Jack dropped me off at home, he stayed silent, lost in thought.

I leaned back against the mattress.

“What’s wrong? Are you troubled about something?” I asked.

Jack seemed to snap back to reality.

He responded, “No, I was just reflecting on today’s events. How about we check out other cemeteries tomorrow?”

I patted him reassuringly with a light smile.

“No problem. I can hold on, no doubt I can last another two months. I refuse to believe I can’t find a single plot in that time!”

As soon as I finished speaking, Jack's eyes turned red.

He paused, holding the peeler.

The man then muttered under his breath, “Liar.”

I was born on a tiny island, miles and miles away from Nightfall City. The islanders had fished for generations and my parents followed in that long tradition. Our life was simple and rhythmic—up with the dawn and to bed with the twilight.

That day, the weather was nothing short of perfect. The breeze was gentle, the sun was radiant and the sky stretched out, endless and clear. The sea shimmered under the sunlight, sparkling like countless tiny, scattered jewels.

As usual, my parents prepared their fishing gear, set off in their old, sputtering boat and waved cheerfully as they departed.

They were in high spirits, excited about the recent bounty of fat mantis shrimp, which promised a good price.

Little did anyone know, the storm would arrive so swiftly and fiercely.

The waves were too violent; no one on the island dared risk going out to search for them.

I clung desperately to my grandmother, feeling utterly powerless.

I prayed fervently, over and over, for the heavens to spare my parents.

Yet, fate has a way of mocking our deepest wishes.

It was in that moment that I first truly grasped the cold reality of fate.

Perhaps some things are predestined, beyond the reach of our efforts to change.

After my parents died, I developed a deep-seated fear of the sea.

This fear led me to reject the option of a sea burial after cremation, opting instead for the most traditional burial.

I feared the bottomless depths, where the darkness swallowed all life.

That night, after returning from the cemetery.

I had another nightmare.

In my dream, I was drowning in deep water, struggling to breathe as my chest was crushed with pain and my limbs grew weak.

Beneath the surface, two shadowy figures, their faces indistinguishable, were pulling at my legs, preventing me from surfacing.

I woke up in a cold sweat, the metallic taste of fear lingering in my throat.

Jack hurried to my bedside, reaching out to me with concern.

“Emmy, open your mouth.”

I obediently did as I was told, letting the dark blood I had been holding back all day spill into his palm.

Jack carefully cleaned his hands, then came back to my side, his voice tinged with sorrow.

“Why have you been holding it in?”

I offered a sheepish smile and turned away, unwilling to explain.

But with the night growing darker, sleep eluded me.

Jack sat quietly by my bedside, illuminated only by the dim yellow light of the lamp.

Lately, I often woke up in the middle of the night, coughing up large amounts of blood and my sleep was restless.

So he stayed by my side, always within reach as soon as I opened my eyes.

He truly was a remarkably professional person.

It was worth every penny I spent to buy a bit of peace of mind before the end.

Perhaps it was because I couldn’t sleep or maybe my curiosity about him was too strong, but I decided to strike up a conversation.

“Jack, why did you choose to become a hospice caregiver?”

He was young, with the kind of looks that are popular on screen these days.

No matter how you look at it, his tall, striking figure seemed more suited for modeling or a career as a rising star.

Jack was silent for a moment before he began to speak.

His deep, gentle voice took on a misty quality in the night as he unfolded a sorrowful story.

“On my birthday, my mom had ordered a birthday cake from the store and asked my dad to pick it up after work.”

“But it was a torrential downpour that day—rain pouring heavily, thunder crashing and trees being uprooted by the wind.”

“Because of that, my dad got into a car accident on his way to the bakery and died on the spot.”

The young man's voice caught and he sighed deeply before continuing.

“My mom blamed herself for everything. She thought if she hadn’t asked my dad to pick up the cake, none of this would have happened.”

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

“But she could have easily blamed me instead, couldn’t she? Yet she didn’t. Instead, she bought paraquat, a highly toxic herbicide, when I wasn’t looking, planning to end her life in a joint suicide with my dad.”

Jack’s eyes reddened as he struggled to keep his voice steady.

“But paraquat doesn’t kill immediately. It slowly and irreversibly damages the heart and lungs, giving enough time for regret but no chance to undo the damage.”

“She held on in the ICU for seven days. There was one miraculous moment when she regained her senses and grasped my hand, crying nonstop.”

“She said she regretted it—that she shouldn’t have left me alone.”

“But it was too late.”

“By the time she was about to leave this world, she couldn’t speak anymore. She took a piece of paper and tremblingly wrote me a final message.”

I held back my tears and asked him, “What did she write?”

Jack lifted his gaze to meet mine, clearly taken aback. He quickly shifted to a more playful tone.

“Well, a dying person doesn’t exactly have the energy to write clearly. It was so messy that it was barely legible.”

He continued, “Fortunately, a family later helped sponsor me, allowing me to finish my education. After graduating from college, I heard that hospice care had a decent salary, so here I am.”

“There isn’t really any special reason.”

I had thought Jack took this job because of his parents, but it turned out to be such a mundane reason.

Still, this was the first time he had opened up about his past to me.

I wiped away the tears at the corners of my eyes, slowly extended my hand from beneath the covers and gently patted his head, stroking and rubbing it.

“You’ve done so well, Jack, taking care of yourself all this time.”

Jack went still, a trace of irritation in his voice as he grumbled.

Yet, beneath my hand, his head tilted closer, drawn to the warmth of my touch.

I couldn’t help but smile. He was such a disingenuous kid, pretending to resist when he clearly reveled in the affection.

Unable to sleep, I lay there awake and Jack seized the moment to probe into my life.

“So, the man you saw today—your ex-husband—what made you marry him in the first place?”

“The man we saw today, your ex-husband—why did you marry him in the first place?”

I was taken aback.

“Why else would I get married? I loved him, so I married him.”

Jack shot me a disdainful look, as if silently criticizing my judgment.

“No, you have to believe me, he wasn’t always like this. There was a gentleness about him that made it impossible not to love him.”

Jack interrupted me.

“And now? Do you still love him?”

His question sent me deep into thought.

Did I still love Oliver?

If marriage had been because of love, did that mean divorce was due to its absence?

I thought, in the end, I wasn't really in a position to answer that question.

I first met Oliver when I was twelve and back then, he was still my older brother.

Angela Mortimer, on the other hand, was my adoptive mother.

After my parents passed away, my grandmother, having spent all her savings on a serious illness, was unable to support me.

It was during this time that Oliver’s mother offered to take me in, as a way to repay a past act of saving her life.

At that time, the Mortimer Family—three of them—had come to the island for a cheerful family vacation.

Angela couldn’t swim and was swept away by a wave while playing by the sea. My mother risked her life to rescue her and that’s how their bond began.

At the time, I was too young to remember much about it.

I only knew that gifts would occasionally arrive during holidays.

When news of my parents' death reached her, Angela came to the island herself.

“Emmy, don’t worry. I will take care of you as if you were my own child. Come with me.”

She was a remarkably kind person and almost without thinking, I placed my hand in hers and followed her.

It was my first time leaving the island, my first glimpse of a bustling city and my first encounter with Oliver.

The young man sat quietly by the window, absorbed in a book—clean and radiant.

He reminded me of the summer sea glistening under the sun, captivating and mesmerizing.

I felt a flutter in my heart. But still, I addressed him obediently.

“Brother.”

He closed the book, revealing a pair of charming teeth and smiled warmly.

“Long time no see, Emma.”

My foster mother enrolled us both in the same middle school and later, the same high school.

Oliver introduced me to all his friends and that’s how I met Luna.

Life with the Mortimer Family was, in fact, quite pleasant.

Angela, my foster mother, worried I might face hardships. So, she gave me a generous allowance—more money than I had ever seen.

I divided it into three parts: one third went to my grandmother, another was donated to secure some blessings for my parents in the afterlife and I kept a small portion for myself.

Despite this windfall, I remained as frugal as ever.

The wealthy kids at school couldn’t hide their disdain for me, the newcomer from the countryside. They would huddle in groups, snickering about the "fishy smell" they claimed I had and would dramatically pinch their noses whenever I walked by.

They would often gather in groups, remarking on the fishy smell they claimed I carried and would deliberately pinch their noses whenever I walked by.

Unable to hold back any longer, I grabbed a bucket of dirty mop water from the restroom and threw it all over them.

Just as their fists were about to land on me, Oliver appeared out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around me and shielding me from every blow.

He ended up with some bruises, but I was unscathed.

When Angela came to pick us up from school, Oliver and I stood in the hallway, laughing and joking, completely unbothered by our punishment.

I realized then that I had feelings for him.

What began as innocent affection during our growing years soon blossomed into something deeper as we spent more time together.

Even though I knew he treated me well only because of our adoption, because I was what he called his sister, this despicable emotion still grew increasingly uncontrollable.

Until he kissed Luna.

On the day of our high school graduation, our class organized a dinner party and played a game of Truth or Dare.

Oliver drew a card that required him to spin the wheel and kiss the designated girl on the cheek for ten seconds.

When the wheel's pointer landed on me, Oliver's embarrassment was visibly apparent.

"Emmy is my sister. It’s totally inappropriate for a brother to kiss his sister."

So he walked over, his ears turning a deep shade of red.

He leaned in with his cool, fragrant body and kissed Luna, who sat next to me with an expectant look on her face.

In those ten seconds of surrounding uproar, my heart shattered completely.

For the first time, I experienced the feeling of getting hopelessly drunk.

I wanted the alcohol to numb this heartache that made it hard to breathe.

Oliver, with a furrowed brow, carried me into the car and drove me home.

"Oliver, do you like Luna?"

He placed me on the soft bed in my bedroom, gently withdrawing his arm from beneath my neck.

Emboldened by the alcohol, I grabbed his collar and steadied my voice to ask him.

I wanted an answer.

Oliver didn’t reply. Instead, he reached out and smoothed my furrowed brow.

"Call me brother," he sighed.

"Be good, Emmy and get some sleep."

I refused to let go, gripping his hand tightly.

"Oliver, do you really not like me at all?"

The bedroom was dark, with only some dazzling moonlight spilling in by the window, casting a beautiful, hazy glow on him.

He remained silent, eerily quiet. Even if he told me he didn’t like me at all and only saw me as a sister. I would give up all my hopes immediately. But he didn't.

I ran out of patience. I pulled his body forcefully and pressed my alcohol-laced lips to his cool ones.

It was a moment of madness.

Since that kiss, Oliver had been avoiding me, refusing to see me.

He hated me.

I was determined to stay out of his sight.

Thus, when the time comes, I chose a university far from Nightfall City, putting as much distance between us as possible.

He and Luna stayed behind to continue their studies.

For four years, I avoided coming home, dodging any chance of awkward encounters with him.

During the holidays, I took on various odd jobs, sending the money I earned to my grandmother and buying small gifts to send to my adoptive mother.

I thought I had forgotten him—forgotten his voice, forgotten his face.

So, I set my burdens aside and enjoyed a carefree college life.

In my sophomore year, I started dating Hudson Eagleton, who had been pursuing me. He was nothing like Oliver. Hudson was sharp and charming, a real hit with the girls. With him, I never had to wonder if he loved me because he constantly proclaimed it.

I told my adoptive mother about my relationship and she was thrilled, constantly saying she wanted to meet my boyfriend.

After two years of dating Hudson and nearing graduation, I decided to bring him back to the Mortimer manor.

I hadn’t anticipated that Oliver would be there as well.

He appeared more composed than I remembered, dressed in a crisp white shirt and silver-framed glasses.

I did my best to dodge his gaze, nervously greeting him with a stilted "brother."

He simply nodded in response, his silence as heavy as ever.

At the dinner table, my adoptive mother chatted with Hudson about many things.

When she asked about our future plans, he smiled warmly.

"Don’t worry, Auntie. I’ll take good care of Emmy. After graduation, I’ll marry her."

My adoptive mother was overjoyed, her face beaming as she held and stroked my hand, tears welling up in her eyes.

“That’s wonderful, Emmy. Your parents can finally rest easy,” she said.

Everyone at the table shared in the happiness. The only one who remained silent and brooding was Oliver, nursing his drink in solitude.

What could possibly be bothering him?

I’d heard from high school friends that he and Luna had been together for years and were very much in love.

He shouldn’t be this downcast.

With Hudson invited to stay the night, I retreated to my room to unwind.

The night deepened and a sense of quiet settled over the house.

A soft knock echoed from outside the door.

Oliver, reeking of alcohol, stood in the doorway.

Wearing just a spaghetti strap nightgown, I asked him softly, “Brother, is something wrong?”

Without answering, he quickly stepped inside, pressing the door shut behind him and trapping me in his cool, fragrant embrace.

“Emma, do you really like that man so much?”

“Enough to ignore me for four whole years?”

I was taken aback. Wasn’t he the one who had avoided me?

Wasn’t he the one who had hated me?

But my heart raced like a drum, leaving me unable to find my voice.

Did I love Hudson? I wasn’t sure.

But being with him gave me a sense of security.

I never had to doubt whether he cared for me because he patiently told me over and over again.

I supposed that feeling secure was a kind of love.

I nodded gently and his eyes quickly dimmed as he asked me.

"Then, do you still have feelings for me?"

"Is there even a trace of emotion left for me?"

A wave of deep, dense sorrow surged through my heart.

Did I still like him? I suppose I did.

From the very first moment I saw him again, I knew I could never forget him.

But if I spoke up now, everything would change.

So I chose silence, just like on that reckless night four years ago.

Unable to wait for my answer, he wept as he gently cupped my face in his hands and kissed me with abandon.

"Emmy, love me. Continue loving me."

"Please."

Then, a long-suppressed desire surged through me, dragging me into a hellish abyss.