Chapter 3

But Alexander stubbornly extended his hand.

"Just consider it... compensation from me. You take the money, let go of the resentment, and we'll be even from now on."

I looked at him with some surprise.

The proud Alexander had actually learned to compensate others.

He never used to lower his head.

"Then it's even less necessary. I saved you because you were my boyfriend at the time. I deliberately hurt someone and went to prison—that was as it should be. Neither of us owes the other anything."

Alexander clenched his fists, eyes fixed on me.

As if confirming over and over that the person standing before him was indeed Scarlett herself.

Finally, he slowly lowered his head, tears seeming to glisten in the corners of his eyes.

"Scarlett... you make me feel like such a stranger."

I looked at the clock on the wall.

"We haven't seen each other in years. Of course we're strangers."

"Back then... I lost control for a moment." He paused, his voice choking slightly.

"All these years, I've been thinking—if you hadn't committed that impulsive crime, out of guilt, I definitely would have married you and treated you doubly well..."

I said nothing for a long time, letting the clock's ticking be stretched infinitely long by the silence.

"Everyone has their own fate." I fished a lollipop from my pocket, peeled off the wrapper and stuck it in my mouth. "Don't regret what you did, and don't look back."

"You—"

Alexander was rendered speechless by this ordinary statement. After a long while, he said irritably:

"You haven't changed in one way—you're still a stone in the toilet, smelly and hard!"

I nodded readily. "The neighbors all say I've got a stubborn streak."

"Scarlett!"

Alexander clenched his fists. After holding it in for ages, he suddenly called my nickname.

I was momentarily dazed. The tone he used for those two syllables was just like before.

Seeing my distraction, he softened his voice:

"If you won't accept my compensation, I can act as mediator between you and your father.

You don't know yet, do you? Your father has late-stage pancreatic cancer. He won't live much longer."

"If you get his forgiveness now, you can still get a share of the inheritance—enough to last you a lifetime..."

"Is that so?" I was quite pleased. "He's finally getting what he deserves."

After I'd deflected the conversation three or four times, Alexander lost his patience. He suddenly grabbed my arm, trying to pull me to his car.

"Scarlett, how long are you going to keep up this stubborn act!"

"Look at yourself! Just look at what you've become!"

"Renting a tiny, dark self-built house, doing dirty, exhausting repair work!"

"Eating junk food—do you think this appearance is cool, special, touching?"

"You're just a bottom-tier mechanic! The very bottom!"

I looked down at myself—my work clothes covered in grease, hair carelessly tied in a ponytail, face probably smudged with dirt too.

I honestly rebutted:

"It's not that bad, is it? At least I still have a clean face, unlike certain people..."

Alexander jumped up like someone had stepped on his foot, his face flushed:

"Rose has had surgery and is completely restored! Although there are scars, makeup can cover them!"

"And you—you smell like motor oil, your hands are rough as sandpaper. What man could stand that!"

Getting emotional, he swung his Hermès bag at me haphazardly, like someone disappointed in me for not living up to potential.

Just then, the glass door creaked and was pushed open again.

Two children, a boy and a girl, shot in like rockets...