Chapter 2

Elara Vance POV

Before the divorce, I was an unknown fairy tale author.

After the divorce, I exiled myself to Detroit, one of America's grittier cities, and became a bestselling horror novelist.

All my readers thought I had been traumatized by the divorce, which was why my writing style had transformed into something with a violent aesthetic.

Responding to the buzz on the forums, I quoted a line from one of my characters.

"Before you die, you have to get a little wild."

...

In the basement, lit only by a desk lamp, the glow from the computer screen reflected on my pale face.

I lit a cigarette, my red nails making my hands look even paler.

"Nightbloom: Alright, usual rules. Ten lucky readers picked yesterday can ask anything."

My message instantly made the fan group explode.

"Piggle_Rider: I'm first. Will the heroine in the next chapter escape the loop? My heart can't take it."

I blew out a smoke ring, typing with one hand.

"Nightbloom: Depends on my mood."

As the message went out, questions about my current serialized suspense horror novel scrolled non-stop.

"RiverFlows: Actually, I wanted to ask, why did you get divorced back then? I heard you and your ex-husband had a great relationship."

At this question, the lively chat went silent, as if everyone was waiting for my answer.

My tongue lightly traced my teeth as I carefully formulated a reply.

"Nightbloom: Our relationship broke down."

From that question on, the next few people became curious about my private life.

"November_Moon: How long did you and your ex-husband know each other before you started dating?"

"Nightbloom: He lived upstairs from me. We've known each other since childhood."

"TinyGrain: What's your ex-husband like, and what does he do? If I became your ideal lover, would there be a way to trick you into giving me your unpublished works?!"

Seeing these intrusive questions, I frowned, tapping my fingers lightly on the table, my interest fading.

Suddenly, my phone rang.

I flicked the ash off my cigarette and answered.

"Ms. Vance, this is Mr. White, your agent. The tenant for the viewing is here. We'll be there soon."

"Got it."

I hung up, gave a perfunctory answer to the remaining questions, then shut down my computer.

I stubbed out the cigarette and went upstairs.

Pushing open the basement door, the dazzling sunlight made me instinctively squint.

The two-story, sun-drenched villa was a stark contrast to the gloomy basement.

December in Detroit was especially cold. The ruined streets were covered in snow, burying sin and decay beneath.

After opening the front door, I started making myself coffee.

Amidst the hum of the coffee machine, a black car pulled up outside the villa. A moment later, two men walked in.

"Sir, this is the house you wanted to see. The owner is also here."

Hearing Mr. White's voice, I turned around.

When my gaze landed on the man beside Mr. White, my pupils constricted.

How could it be Ethan Hayes? My ex-husband of four years.

He wore a black overcoat, his figure still tall and lean, but his handsome face no longer held the youthful confidence and tenderness I remembered. It was replaced instead by a somber maturity.

A burning sensation on the back of my hand almost made me drop the mug.

I frowned, setting down the full coffee cup. As I reached for a napkin, Ethan handed me a handkerchief.

"Are you alright?"

His voice was still that cool, alluring tone that could captivate any woman.

I hesitated, then took it. "Thanks."

Mr. White noticed our familiarity. "Excuse me, you two know each other?"

I looked at the man's impassive eyes, my throat feeling a little dry. "Old friend."

Ethan's gaze deepened. He turned to Mr. White and said, "No need to look any further. This is it."

My expression remained neutral.

I knew Ethan was stubborn. He wouldn't easily change his mind once he'd decided something, so I only stated one condition.

"I only have one rule: the basement is my private space. You can't go there."

Ethan nodded readily. "Alright."

Mr. White was surprised by how smoothly the deal went, but also happy to have closed a sale. "I'll go get the lease agreement."

In the spacious living room, it was so quiet you could hear the wind outside.

Ethan looked at me, calmly sipping my coffee, his eyes deepening.

I had my long hair loosely tied up with a pencil, a black dress clinging to me, my amber eyes shadowed with a somber, gloomy aura.

He asked, "What are you doing here?"

I also asked, "What are *you* doing here?"

Our simultaneous questions created an awkward silence.

I pursed my lips. "The chaos and violence here... it suits my writing."

As I spoke, a hint of teasing entered my voice. "What about you? Don't tell me you, a cop, came here to catch a fugitive."

Ethan's expression shifted slightly. Just as he was about to reply, a five-year-old boy ran in.

The boy hugged his leg, his round, bright eyes full of excitement.

"Dad, is this where we're going to live now?"