After Arthur and Shawna disappeared into a hospital ward, Ian White ran into the hospital. He and Arthur missed each other.
Ian held my hand tightly. Tears streamed down his face when his fingers brushed against my cold forehead as he tried to caress my hair.
His voice shook as he said, “Think about how good things would’ve been if you’d married me back then, you idiot. You wouldn’t have ended up with no one bothering about you, even after your death!”
My nose prickled when I saw how windswept he looked. It seemed he’d just returned from out of town. He’d actually left this city after I’d married Arthur.
At the time, he’d given me two reasons for his departure. Firstly, he claimed Arthur couldn’t stand him. Secondly, he said we would both be better off if he left because he didn’t want to cause me unnecessary trouble.
I was an orphan, and the White family had adopted me when I was seven. Ian was my adoptive brother. Initially, he hadn’t liked me, but he’d become much nicer to me as time had passed.
I’d later cut ties with my adoptive parents due to my marriage with Arthur. The reason was simple—they wanted me to marry into a wealthier family. I knew they hadn’t adopted me because of their affection for me. All they wanted was someone who could be a pawn and help them form an alliance through marriage.
Compared to Arthur, there was no way I could marry Ian. At least, my adoptive parents would never allow it.
Ian took my body away. As he was leaving, Arthur came out of Shawna’s hospital ward to get her some food. She’d asked him to get her some pastries from a bakery a distance away. He hadn’t even hesitated upon hearing her request.
I’d asked Arthur to get me food once, too. All I’d wanted was something light from the convenience store downstairs; I’d asked him to get it for me on his way home, but he’d been too lazy to make a detour.
Ian and Arthur ran into each other. Ian held my body, which was covered by a white sheet. Their gazes met, and they recognized each other.
“Get out of my way.” Ian wasn’t in the mood to be polite. It was to be expected—how could he be polite to someone who’d killed me?
