Chapter 397: Chapter 397: Is That Him?
He was crying.
His sobs weren’t obvious, but Annabelle Linton could feel that he was crying.
So he hadn’t gone far after all.
For the past week, he had been living in a tiny rental apartment.
It was the same apartment he had stayed in when he came to find her, back when Annabelle Linton had fallen into a two-month coma after having her blood drained for Leona Grant.
Back then, they were both just ordinary students. They had to be frugal and couldn’t afford an expensive place, so this was all they could manage.
He had picked Annabelle Linton up from the hospital and taken care of her here for two days before bringing her back to Albion.
It was on one of those afternoons, while she lay in a deep sleep, that he gazed at her pale, sleeping face and finally understood his own heart—he had fallen in love with her.
From then on, there was no turning back.
Years had passed in the blink of an eye, yet nothing had changed...
’I told myself that as long as she’s happy, that’s all that matters. That my own feelings could wait. So why does it hurt so much now that she’s choosing someone else?’
’Have I gotten greedy...? Even though I know we can’t be together.’
Aaron Wyatt sat on the floor and took a swig of alcohol. Bitterness spread through his mouth, and he gave a cold, thin-lipped smile.
’You need to wake up. There’s no outcome, no future for you two. This wonderful time you had was something you stole. What more could you possibly ask for?’
But people were always like this. When you have nothing, you wish for something. Once you have it, you want to possess it completely.
You can hide from the raucous nights of drinking and song, but you can’t escape the loneliness of a street devoid of people.
He had tried to hypnotize himself with these thoughts again and again, but in the dead of night, his yearning for her would run wild, arrogant and untamed.
Aaron Wyatt picked up his phone, gently stroking the screen that displayed the only twenty photos of Annabelle Linton he had collected over the years.
Annabelle Linton didn’t like having her picture taken, and he’d never forced her. Only three were photos of them together, taken during their last trip to the resort. The rest... he had taken secretly.
There were photos of her sleeping, of her working, of her reading, of her writing.
Each one seemed to carry her gentle essence, a portrait of quiet, peaceful days...
He scrolled through them again and again, looked at them over and over, until his hands grew stiff and his eyes began to ache. He smiled, but his heart throbbed with pain...
’I want to see her so badly. So, so badly...’
Aaron Wyatt opened his contacts and found Annabelle Linton’s entry, staring at the name he’d saved her as: "Aaron Wyatt’s Annabelle Linton."
’Is Annabelle Linton really Aaron Wyatt’s?’
’No. She never was, and she never will be.’
A heart-wrenching pain tore through him. The air felt thin. In a hazy, drunken stupor, he unknowingly pressed the call button.
Annabelle Linton, who had been searching for him everywhere, was on the verge of tears when she saw his call. "Aaron Wyatt!"
Leaning against the wall, Aaron Wyatt thought he heard Annabelle Linton’s voice. ’It’s just a hallucination,’ he told himself, but he couldn’t bear the thought of not answering. Annabelle would worry.
"Annabelle..."
Annabelle Linton’s eyes reddened as she couldn’t stop herself from cursing, "You bastard, where have you been?!"
"I’m... at the apartment we stayed in when we first came to Lynton... Where you had your blood drained for her..." He couldn’t continue. His gaze fell, and he leaned dejectedly against the wall, taking another drink.
Annabelle Linton knew where he was.
’Damn it. Too many years had passed, and on top of that, she had been reborn. She’d completely forgotten about this place. If he hadn’t mentioned it, she never would have thought of it. She was even planning to go to Albion to find him tomorrow.’
Annabelle Linton drove to the rental apartment.
The door was unlocked. She threw it open, and tears instantly welled in her eyes.
Aaron Wyatt sat dejectedly on the floor, surrounded by empty cans. The entire room was filled with the strong, foul stench of alcohol. Was that him?
Was that really Aaron Wyatt?
