Chapter 2 Back to the Beginning
"No!"
The woman snapped her eyes open, breath coming in quick gasps as she stared at the pale pink ceiling above her.
Her brows pulled together, and her long curled lashes trembled slightly. She slowly raised her arms—hands cuffed with customized chains that quivered just like her confusion.
"My arms… Molly severed these. Didn't she?" Megan thought, fingers trembling as they brushed unblemished skin. "Smooth lips… intact. Is this… a dream?"
Footsteps approached. She instinctively pushed herself up, though her weak body made her dizzy the second she moved.
Bathed in the soft afternoon sunlight, a tall figure stepped into view, wrapped in a golden glow.
His face was sharp, almost ethereal—thick brows, deep-set eyes, a straight nose, and thin-pressed lips. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a myth—with a sickly pallor that gave him a haunted edge.
"You hate me that much, huh?"
The man stood beside the bed, eyes locked onto hers, voice low and laced with exhaustion.
Megan's nose stung. She reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her small face against his firm waist.
"Tristan… Tristan…"
Tristan's body froze. She'd never said his name like that before, not with that kind of warmth.
She'd always been slick—skilled and full of tricks, trying every possible move to break free.
He even had those cuffs made—ones that only responded to his fingerprint—just to stop her escaping again.
She'd gone on hunger strike because of them.
So what now? Playing a new angle? Soft power?
The damp warmth soaked through his shirt, touching the muscles on his abdomen.
He quickly furrowed his brow, placing his hands on her shoulders to create distance.
"Are… are you crying?"
He'd really pushed this tearless woman to tears?
Anger surged in him. Did she hate him so much she'd rather fall apart?
He was about to tell her—tears or not, she wasn't leaving. He never let go of what was his.
But before he could speak, she hugged him again, tighter this time.
"Tristan, Tristan… is this really you? Am I dreaming?"
Wasn't this the same day from three months ago—when she had stopped eating?
Hadn't she… died?
Her last memory was of him… plunging a blade into her chest.
Could it be… she'd really come back?
Tristan lifted a hand, wanting to gently pat her back. But at the last second, he pulled it back.
No—he wouldn't give in again.
His voice was deep, smooth like a cello, but cold enough to sting. "Don't kid yourself. You're never getting away from me."
Megan jerked her head up, grabbed her own arm, and bit down hard.
The pain.
So real.
Way too real.
Tristan's face darkened, eyes narrowing. "Are you still trying to hurt yourself?"
She crawled up onto the bed, knelt, then threw her arms around his neck. Her voice softened to almost a whisper, "I'm not… I just had to know if this was real. If you… are real. I'm done running. Tristan, I missed you—so much. I really did."
Missed him?
Wasn't it hate?
Didn't she despise him for locking her up?
This—this was the Megan he'd been waiting for. A version of her he'd never thought he'd actually see.But the sudden happiness felt too unreal. He stood frozen, not knowing how to react.
Megan had cried for a while before loosening her grip around his neck and looking up at him.
Her eyes were puffy and rimmed with red, like two bruised cherries. Seeing that, Tristan felt a stabbing ache in his chest. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he raised a hand toward her lips. "If you want to check if this is a dream, don't bite yourself—it'll hurt. Bite me instead."
Megan stared at his clean, slender fingers, then wrapped her hands around his and brought them to her lips.
Just when Tristan thought she was about to chomp down on him, she gently kissed his hand instead.
"What are you doing?" His voice was low. "Trying to win me over with stuff you don't even mean? So I'll let you go?"
She shook her head and pressed his hand to her face, voice stuffy, "Tristan, can we just try to live a normal life together?"
Live a normal life…He'd waited way too long to hear those words.
"Do you… mean it?" Tristan asked, still in disbelief.
"Absolutely. I'm done running. We're already engaged. I'm your fiancée. I'll stay with you, no matter what." Megan nodded with conviction.
His dark eyes sparkled for a moment, only for doubt to flicker in soon after. "You said that last time too. Didn't stop you from bolting."
Megan knew she'd let him down—again and again.
In her past life, this very day had played out almost identically. She'd done everything she could to gain Tristan's trust.
And it had worked. He'd dropped all restrictions and stopped trying to confine her.
But she broke her promise, vanished, and hid in a secret underground room Molly had prepared.
Not long after, she heard that Tristan had lost it and ended up killing her grandfather in his rage.
That's when she messaged him privately, declaring war and demanding revenge.
Tristan tried tracing her down, but she was like a ghost, completely off the grid.
She used her tech skills to hack into Reid Corp's internal systems, drain their funds, and leak fake financial reports.
Reid Corp's stock crashed overnight—billions in assets gone.
All strategic partnerships with global companies were pulled. The entire corporation was in chaos.
She seized the opportunity to take it over.
And throughout all this, as CEO, Tristan didn't even try to fight back.
It was like… he let her do it.
It took her just two months to knock Reid Corp off its pedestal.
The flashback zipped through Megan's mind in seconds.
A deep guilt washed over her. She cupped his chiseled face in her hands, looked him in the eye, and said gently, "I know, for you, all this joy feels way too fast—like a blow to your chest. But Tristan, just this once, can you trust me?"