Chapter 263: Loving a monster.
Dylan halted at her question. For a brief moment, he simply looked at her.
Then—
The past came rushing back.
Not as scattered memories, but as wounds that had never truly healed.
Wounds that time had failed to erase.
They still remained buried deep inside him as ...
A blessing.
And a curse.
"Seeing you makes me hate you even more ... so just disappear from my life."
Her voice echoed through his mind.
Then another.
"Disappear ... so I never have to see you again. Today, tomorrow ... never again. You’re the cause of every one of my sufferings."
Another fragment followed.
This time, her voice trembled.
"The greatest regret of my life ... was ever loving you. Loving a monster who doesn’t deserve to be loved. A heartless demon."
Her cries still echoed in his ears ...
"It hurts too much ..."
"So much ... that I don’t even want to keep living in this world anymore."
"I just want to leave ..."
"For good."
One sentence after another.
One memory after another.
Like shadows flickering endlessly through the darkness.
Like countless blades reopening wounds he had spent years desperately trying to bury.
Back then—
Her accusations hadn’t hurt him the most.
Her words hadn’t broken him the worst.
It had been her tears.
Those tears ...
The ones that fell while she looked at him as though he was the very person who had destroyed her entire world.
But even those weren’t the worst.
What had terrified him the most ...
... was the determination in her eyes when she chose to leave him forever.
That day—
He had barely survived it.
He had barely accepted it.
He had barely convinced himself to let her go.
Even then ...
A selfish part of him had still hoped —hoped she wouldn’t be cruel enough to truly abandon him.
Yet ...
She had.
Far more cruelly than he had ever imagined possible.
Dylan’s fingers slowly curled beneath the table until his knuckles tightened.
Those memories belonged to the past. Forgetting which she was sitting before him once again —close enough to touch.
Yet the pain that day had carved into him still existed the same. It had never truly faded.
Not even a little.
It still remained there—
Like a poisoned arrow lodged deep inside his heart.
Unseen.
Untouched.
And impossible to pull out.
But it was equally a blessing.
Because through all that pain, they had never truly allowed her to disappear from his world.
She stayed with him...
... in those memories
Giving him a reason to keep living in a world where she had brutally abandoned him once again.
Across the table, Adelyn quietly watched him, trying to read the expression on his face. But everything about him remained so carefully guarded that she simply couldn’t see through him.
Had they really crossed paths before?
She tried to think.
But no matter how many possibilities her imagination created, she couldn’t recall anything that could have brought the two of them together in the past.
Then ...
If they had never met ...
What exactly did he mean when he said this wasn’t his first time?
"I mean, Mr. Warren ..." she spoke hesitantly, "... even the last time you came to my apartment, you were the one who cooked. You couldn’t possibly have tasted my cooking before."
"You’re overthinking it," Dylan finally said.
"I wasn’t talking about your cooking."
"Then ...?"
The confusion on Adelyn’s face eased, only to be replaced by curiosity.
Dylan held her gaze for a brief moment before answering calmly.
"What I meant was ..." he said, "... I’ve had my fair share of tasting kitchen blunders. Even if something happened to go wrong here, it still wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever eaten."
That ... made sense.
Adelyn finally nodded in understanding.
Of course.
What had she even been thinking?
Him being someone from the part of her memory she had forgotten?
How could that possibly be?
If he had ever been part of her past, there was no way she could have forgotten someone like him.
Compared to the conclusion she had reached in her own mind, Dylan’s explanation sounded far more reasonable.
"Now ..."
Dylan’s voice once again broke the silence just as it had begun to settle. "If I’ve given you enough confidence ..." he said, gently nudging his empty plate forward once again, "... can you serve me now?"
He asked again.
And even though Adelyn was still reluctant, she found herself unable to refuse.
With an awkward smile, she nodded before carefully serving him a portion as well.
"Here you go, Mr. Warren," she said softly. "But please ... if it doesn’t suit your taste, don’t hesitate to spit it out immediately. I truly won’t mind."
Getting embarrassed would still be far better than accidentally poisoning him.
Dylan merely gave her a small nod before picking up his knife and fork.
Eira was still little, so Adelyn had already cut everything into bite-sized pieces for her. The girl only needed to pick them up with her fork before putting them into her mouth.
Adelyn sat there quietly, watching as the father and daughter slowly took their first bites.
Her palms felt slightly clammy with nervousness.
Yet deep inside ...
She still hoped the dish wouldn’t turn out to be an absolute disaster.
As long as it tasted even slightly decent ...
She wouldn’t be too embarrassed.
Her eyes instinctively drifted toward Dylan first.
She watched him chew slowly, his expression remaining just as calm and unreadable as ever.
Nothing on his face suggested that anything had gone wrong.
Was it actually good?
Then she quickly turned toward the little girl.
Hesitantly, she asked, "How is it?"
Little Eira slowly turned to look at her.
Something about the girl’s expression immediately made Adelyn brace herself for the worst.
She knew she wasn’t a great cook.
But ...
Surely she couldn’t be that bad, could she?
Then again ...
What had she honestly expected?
She had attempted a completely new recipe.
One that hadn’t even remotely resembled the beautiful version she had seen online.
It had looked completely different the moment she plated it. Of course something must have gone wrong.
Before Eira could answer, Adelyn sighed helplessly and gently said, "It’s alright, sweetheart ... you can spit it out."
She smiled rather bitterly.
"I already knew it probably didn’t turn out very well."
