Late at night, the master bedroom was silent, with only the occasional faint sound of the wind outside the window.
Jean Ellison was sleeping restlessly, her brows furrowed, beads of cold sweat dotting her forehead.
She unconsciously turned over, letting out a very soft whimper, as if trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t escape.
In the darkness, the bedroom door was silently pushed open.
A tall, upright figure appeared at the door—it was Justin Holden.
He was wearing a dark robe, obviously not having slept yet either.
He silently walked to the side of the bed, using the faint light from outside the window to gaze at Jean Ellison’s sleeping profile.
The traces of tears still lingered on her cheeks, glistening in the moonlight.
In her sleep, Jean’s breathing suddenly beca rapid, her lips trembled slightly, uttering indistinct murmurs.
"No...please don’t arrest , it’s not , it’s really not ..."
Her voice was filled with fear and despair, her fingers tightly clutching the bedsheet below her, knuckles turning white.
Justin Holden’s brows furrowed deeply.
In the dream, Jean seed to have returned to that cold and desperate afternoon five years ago.
The sunlight was dazzling, yet she felt like she was plunged into an ice cellar.
The piercing sirens of police cars echoed at the university gate, countless curious or disdainful gazes piercing her like needles.
"Claire Caldwell, you are suspected of economic cris. This is an arrest warrant, please cooperate with our investigation!"
Cold handcuffs clasped her wrists, the tallic touch making her whole body tremble.
"It’s not , it’s really not , I’m being frad."
She struggled and cried in vain, looking towards the familiar classmates and teachers around her, yet seeing only avoiding and indifferent eyes.
"The evidence is conclusive, save your words for the station."
The police officer’s voice was cold and impatient, roughly pushing her onto the police car.
Despair engulfed her like a tide.
Just as she was about to be swallowed by that enormous fear, in the dream, suddenly a force tightly embraced her.
That embrace was not warm, even carried a slight chill, yet it was unusually firm and powerful, abruptly pulling her out of that icy whirlpool of despair.
Jean suddenly opened her eyes, her chest heaving violently, gasping for air, her forehead covered in cold sweat.
The intersection of dream and reality was brief, that cold embrace felt so real.
Startled, she turned her head, suddenly seeing Justin Holden sitting by her bed, watching her.
The extre fear and residual emotions from the dream made her lose all ability to think, and she almost blurted out, her voice hoarse and broken, with a crying tone and deep resentnt.
"It’s not , it’s really not , why don’t you believe , I hate you, Justin Holden, I hate you!"
Justin was taken aback by her sudden accusation filled with hatred.
But he quickly realized she was still in the throes of a nightmare.
He didn’t dwell on her lapse, instead reaching out, gently holding her icy, trembling hand, his thumb slowly and firmly stroking the back of her hand, trying to calm her down.
His voice was low, carrying a strange calmness: "I don’t doubt you, Jean, wake up, look at ."
He repeated, his tone certain: "Whatever you say, I’ll believe, alright."
His steady voice and the warm touch of his palm, like an anchor, slowly pulled Jean back to reality from the lingering aftershock of the nightmare.
Her breathing gradually steadied, her unfocused gaze refocused, realizing that the person in front of her was indeed Justin Holden, and also realizing what she had just said.
She abruptly withdrew her hand, as if scalded, shrank back slightly, the distance between them widening, her face still wet with tears of embarrassnt, her eyes filled with doubt and wariness.
"Why... why are you here?"
Justin saw her instinctive retreat, his gaze dimd slightly, but his tone remained calm.
"I heard you crying, ca in to check."
Jean hastily wiped away the tears on her face, her heart still pounding wildly, partly from the residual nightmare, partly from the embarrassnt of him seeing her so vulnerable. She lowered her head, avoiding his gaze, her voice muffled: "I’m fine now. It was just a nightmare."
Silence spread between them.
After a long while, Jean suddenly raised her head, looking at Justin, her eyes complex, carrying a kind of courage of throwing all caution to the wind, she softly asked.
"Don’t you hate ?"
Justin raised an eyebrow, seemingly not understanding her aning.
Jean pursed her lips, and explained with difficulty: "I knew what Leah Sutton wanted to do, but I didn’t tell you."
After speaking, she was like waiting for judgnt, tightly watching his expression.
Justin looked at her in silence, for a long ti.
In the dim light, his expression was obscure.
Just when Jean thought he would get angry or sneer, he rely spoke lightly, his voice devoid of any discernible emotion.
"Hmm, I know you didn’t say."
He paused, his voice eerily calm.
"You didn’t say, there must be your reasons."
He even calmly hypothesized the most extre possibility, as if analyzing a case unrelated to himself.
"I’ll assu you killed soone, happened to be seen by Leah, who then used it to threaten you, so you didn’t dare to tell ."
His gaze fell on her suddenly wide-open eyes, his tone still without any ripples.
"Let’s just take it as it is; I don’t bla you."
Jean Ellison was thoroughly stunned, looking at him in disbelief.
She had imagined countless reactions from him—anger, questioning, disappointnt—but she never expected "understanding" and "no bla."
He had even found a reason for her, one so absurd yet irrefutable.
At this mont, Jean’s heart felt like sothing had hit it hard, with a surge of bitterness, guilt, and a complex emotion that was indescribable, almost overwhelming her.
She opened her mouth but couldn’t utter a single word, only staring at him blankly.
Justin Holden said nothing more.
He stood up and tucked her in, the action a bit stiff, yet conveying unmistakable care.
"Sleep well."
He said softly, then turned around, leaving the bedroom and gently closing the door.
Jean lay alone on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his words echoing in her ears.
I don’t bla you.
Tears slid down her face again without warning.
This ti, not because of fear, but because of a pain she couldn’t quite understand nor articulate.
By the next morning, sunlight peeked through the curtains, spilling into the dining room.
Jean quickly finished her breakfast, picked up her bag, and prepared to leave.
"Goodbye, Mommy!"
Jesse ran over and hugged her leg.
Jean bent down and kissed her daughter on the cheek: "Be a good girl, Jesse. Listen at ho. I’ll call Aunt Isabel to co and play with you, okay?"
Justin Holden, sitting at the other end of the table reading the financial news, didn’t lift his head, his voice calm and steady.
"No need to trouble Miss Dalton."
Jean paused, looking at him.
Justin put down the newspaper, picked up a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth, and gazed at her calmly.
"I’m not going to the law firm today; I’ll be ho handling so docunts. I’ll take care of Jesse."
Jean was sowhat surprised, hesitating for a mont.
It was rare for Justin to offer to take care of Jesse.
But she was indeed in a rush, and with him there, perhaps she could be more at ease.
"Okay."
She nodded, gave Jesse a few more instructions, and hurriedly left.
The house was now just Justin and Jesse.
Justin moved his laptop to the coffee table in the living room and began dealing with work emails.
Jesse was very well-behaved, playing with toys on the carpet, quiet and undisturbed.
After a while, Jesse seed to tire of the toys, standing up to curiously explore the living room.
She tiptoed and reached a thick world atlas on the bookshelf, struggling to bring it down and spread it out on the carpet.
Her little fingers pointed randomly on the map, muttering words only she could understand.
Occasionally, Justin would glance up from the screen to ensure her safety.
Suddenly, Jesse’s finger stopped at a place on the map of Europe, eyes lighting up with excitent as she looked up at Justin and exclaid, "Uncle Holden, look! It’s Gresten, Mommy taught ."
Hearing this, Justin moved his gaze from the screen to where Jesse was pointing on the map.
Indeed, it was Gresten.
He was quite surprised that a four-year-old could recognize and rember the shape and location of a country.
He put down the computer, squatted beside the carpet, looked at Jesse, and unexpectedly praised her, "Very impressive, you’re right."
Jesse, pleased with the complint, held her head high, speaking in her childish voice: "Mommy told . Mommy said Gresten is beautiful, with lots of big castles and loads of delicious chocolates."
As she spoke, her little finger circled the area, her tone full of longing: "Mommy also said, in the future, Jesse will move here with Mommy."
The warmth on Justin’s face disappeared instantly.
His gaze turned sharp, staring intensely at the innocent little girl, his brows furrowing tightly.
"Move here? When did Mommy say that?"
Jesse, startled by Justin’s sudden change in tone and expression, blinked her big eyes and said timidly, "Just a few days ago, when Mommy was looking at the computer."
Justin’s heart sank heavily.
To move to Gresten.
Jean had never ntioned any plans about moving abroad. Not a single word.
Clearly, he wasn’t part of her plan.
anwhile, in the office of the magazine.
Jean was intently focused on editing the article on her computer screen when she suddenly sneezed twice without warning.
She rubbed her nose, feeling that the air conditioner in the office seed a bit too cold, sending a chill up her spine.
She picked up the knitted cardigan draped over the back of her chair, thinking perhaps she hadn’t slept well last night and caught a slight chill.
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