When Vincent Ashford hung up on me, I was being cornered by a strange man at an unlit street corner.

The rain was coming down as if it meant to smash the entire city open. The ribs of my umbrella rattled violently in the wind. With one arm, I clutched the tablet I had just bought; with the other, I gripped my phone.

The footsteps behind me had followed me for an entire street.

Splash. Splash.

When I quickened my pace, he did too. When I stopped, he stopped.

My phone had only a sliver of battery left. I didn’t call the police right away. Instead, I called Vincent first.

The moment the call connected, music from a bar, laughter, and the clinking of glasses flooded into my ear.

“I’m almost at the corner,” I said, deliberately raising my voice. “Where did you park?”

There was a pause on the other end.

“What corner?” Vincent sounded impatient. “Stella, what’s wrong with you now?”

My throat tightened. From the corner of my eye, I glanced at the dark figure behind me.

“Someone’s following me.”

The other end went quiet for one second.

Then a woman’s laugh drifted close to the receiver.

“What’s wrong with her this time? It’s my birthday. Everyone’s here. Vincent, you’re not really leaving, are you?”

Yvonne Fairchild.

His “female best friend.”

The woman who could text him in the middle of the night, link arms with him, and call him by an intimate nickname as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“If there’s a shop nearby, go inside. If not, call the police,” he said. “I’ve been drinking. I can’t drive.”

Yvonne laughed softly. “Girls are always scaring themselves over nothing.”

“Vincent…”

“Enough. Stop making a scene.”

The call ended.

Rainwater streamed down from my hair, and my fingers were so cold they had gone stiff. I immediately tapped open the emergency call screen.

The number had barely gone through when a rough hand seized my arm.

The wind ripped my umbrella away. My shopping bag fell into a puddle, and muddy water splashed over the box of my new tablet.

Lightning split the night sky open.

At last, I saw the man’s face clearly.

A black raincoat. A greasy, bloated face. Eyes so sticky with desire they made my skin crawl.

“Help!”

“What are you screaming for?” He grinned. “In weather like this, who’s going to hear you?”

I raised my hand and smashed my phone toward him.

He dodged, then slapped it out of my hand and into a puddle. The last thing I could use to call for help was gone.

I kicked at him. He cursed, then shoved me hard against the wall.

My back hit the cold, damp surface, and pain exploded through me until my vision went black for a second.

He closed in, his breathing heavy. “You’ve got some fire in you. I like that.”

“Ah! Get away from me!”

The next second, two beams of headlights cut through the rain.

Before the car had even fully stopped, the rear door was pushed open. A man in a black suit stepped into the downpour, strode over in a few long steps, grabbed the man in the raincoat by the collar, and drove a fist into his face.

The dull thud mixed with thunder.

The man in the raincoat fell into the puddle. Before he could crawl up, he took another brutal kick to the stomach and finally curled into a ball.

I slid down the wall, trembling all over.

The man turned around. With the headlights behind him, I couldn’t see his face clearly.

He came closer and bent down.

“Stella.” His voice was low. “It’s me. Julian.”

I froze.

Julian Ashford.

Vincent’s uncle.

And my brother Kenneth Adams’s best friend.

After three years apart, he was still the kind of man people didn’t dare look directly at. Cold eyes, sharp features, his soaked suit clinging to his shoulders, rainwater rolling down his jaw.

“Julian…”

The moment I said his name, the string I had been holding together snapped.

I threw myself into his arms. My tears mixed with the rain, and I sobbed so hard I could barely breathe.

His hand landed on my back, very light, but steady.

“It’s all right now.”

Bennett Ashford hurried over with an umbrella. He picked up my shopping bag from the ground, then retrieved my phone from the puddle. “Miss Adams’s things are here. The phone got wet, but it still lights up.”

Julian only said, “Open the car door.”

The next second, he lifted me into his arms.

“I can walk by myself.”

He lowered his eyes to me. “Can you stand steadily?”

I shut my mouth.

Because I really couldn’t.

The car door closed, sealing the roar of the rain outside. Warm air soon filled the car, and a blanket was placed over me. Julian took a towel and began drying my hair.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

I shook my head.

His gaze fell on the red marks around my wrist. The heater was on full blast, but I still felt the air around him turn cold.

“He’ll pay for this,” he said calmly.

It didn’t sound like comfort. It sounded like a notice.

My phone suddenly vibrated in Bennett’s hand. He handed it over. “Miss Adams, your phone.”

I took it. Water had seeped into the screen, making it slow to respond. It took several tries before I managed to unlock it.

A group chat that had been silent for a year had suddenly come alive.

The screen was filled with photos sent by Yvonne.

She was wearing a birthday hat, most of her body pressed against Vincent as she held his arm. Vincent didn’t push her away. Instead, he lowered his head and looked into the camera with her.

Anyone who didn’t know better would probably think they were the couple.

I scrolled up.

There were photos of them cutting the cake together, her hand covering the back of his; of her holding cake to his lips, and him lowering his head to eat it.

The next photo was of the way he looked at her.

I had never seen that look before.

At least, he had never looked at me that way.

Just now, in the darkness, I had begged him for help.

He had said, Stop making a scene.

So it wasn’t that he didn’t have time.

He just didn’t have time for me.

Another short video popped up in the group chat.

I didn’t want to tap it, but my finger had already touched the screen.

Music exploded from the speaker. The camera swept over a table full of glasses before finally landing on the sofa.

Yvonne was leaning in Vincent’s arms.

Someone asked, “Vincent, aren’t you afraid Stella will get mad after you hung up on her like that?”

Another person scoffed. “Afraid of what? The Adams and Ashford families are tied together so tightly. Does she dare break off the engagement?”

My breathing stopped.

Then I heard Vincent’s voice.

It was heavy with alcohol, but also with a strange contempt I had never heard before.

“She’s boring as hell.”

Laughter erupted in the private room.

As if encouraged by that laughter, he continued, “We’ve been together for a year, and she won’t even let me kiss her. The most we’ve done is hold hands and hug. What kind of relationship is that?”

My mind went blank with a buzz.

Yvonne’s soft voice followed. “Girls like her just need coaxing. She was even jealous of me before, but honestly, there was no need.”

Vincent chuckled. “She just makes a fuss over nothing. She’s been spoiled rotten. If there were really something between you and me, would she still have her current position?”

The video cut off abruptly.

The screen went black.

My phone had been soaked for too long. It finally gave out.

I clutched it tightly, my fingertips numb.

I had almost been assaulted by a stranger in the pouring rain, while my fiancé was in a bar calling me boring.

The blanket was suddenly pulled higher around me.

I came back to myself and found Julian watching me. “Are you feeling unwell?”

I shook my head. My throat felt as if it had been stuffed with wet cotton.

“I’m fine.”

The two words sounded so hollow even I didn’t believe them.

Julian looked at me for a while, his gaze as deep and dark as the rainy night outside the window.

The car drove into the underground garage.

He helped me out, one hand hovering protectively at my side.

When the apartment door opened, warm light spilled out. I lowered my head and saw just how wretched I looked.

“Take a shower first. Don’t catch a cold,” Julian said from the entryway.

I nodded, then looked at him.

His suit was soaked too. His wet hair was combed back, revealing sharp brows and cold, striking features.

“You should take a shower too,” I said softly. “But I don’t have any men’s clothes here.”

“They’re in the car.”

Of course.

A man like him seemed as though he would never be caught unprepared.

I went into the bathroom.

The moment the door closed, the fear I had been forcing down surged up. I leaned my back against the door and slid to the floor, covering my mouth so I wouldn’t sob out loud.

Hot water ran over the red marks on my wrist. The place where my back had hit the wall throbbed with a dull ache.

But that wasn’t where it hurt the most.

I closed my eyes.

Vincent’s words kept echoing in my mind.

She’s boring as hell.

When I came out after my shower, Julian had already changed. He was sitting on the sofa, speaking on the phone.

“Find out who that man is,” he said. “I want his name before tonight is over.”

The person on the other end said something.

His voice turned even colder. “Gather the evidence and hand it to the police. However long he deserves to be locked up, make sure he stays locked up.”

I stood by the doorway, my fingers tightening.

Vincent had told me to call the police.

Julian had already started investigating the man, preserving evidence, and handling everything that came after.

He ended the call, and the living room fell quiet.

“Julian, thank you.”

He looked up at me. “It’s nothing.”

“When did you come back?”

“This afternoon.” His brows drew together slightly. “Do you have cold medicine at home?”

“Yes.”

I found the medicine. He checked the expiration date, tore open a packet of granules, and handed it to me.

“Drink it.”

The medicine was bitter.

But compared to the things I had heard tonight, that bitterness was nothing.

“Don’t overthink it. Rest well tonight,” he said.

I nodded.

But I didn’t dare sleep.

The moment I closed my eyes, I saw the broken streetlight, the man’s filthy stare, and heard Vincent’s cruel, indifferent words.

Perhaps my face looked too awful, because Julian suddenly said, “I’ll stay.”

I looked up sharply.

He stood in the warm light, his eyes cold, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

“Tonight, I’ll be here.”

That night, my fiancé, Vincent, never came.

The man who stayed was his uncle.