Chapter 2 · Becoming The Lover To My Crush's Murderer

There was a time when I was my parents' little princess, the apple of their eye.

But a car accident shattered everything. In just one night, I lost everything. I sank into a deep depression and shut myself off from everyone, turning into a shadow of who I used to be.

It was during those darkest days at the care facility that I met Peter Moore.

Everyone there was afraid of him. Like me, he was branded a "problem."

But unlike me, who just faded into silence and withered away, he was like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Peter would sneer and hurl sharp words at any doctor or nurse who tried to get close.

He was always this thorny, rebellious loner, keeping everyone at a distance.

But I was the special one.

He knew I was terrified of thunder, so every stormy night, he'd wait outside my room in the hallway, silent as a statue, only dragging his numb legs away when the rain finally stopped.

Once, I casually mentioned missing the sea breeze, and he snuck out of the facility for three days. When he came back, he was all bruised as he handed me a bottle of murky, salty seawater. I never asked where the bruises came from.

He found a soda can tab and spent a whole month working it against his knuckle, turning it into a crooked "ring." When people mocked me for undesirable, he slipped it forcibly onto my finger.

He said, "Zoe, when you're with me, you can be a princess again."

Grady would never understand that he didn't ruin a nobody. He had ruined someone who, with all his fierce tenderness, dragged me out of the darkness. Peter was my entire world.

"Peter, you broke your promise," I whispered.

Curled up in the darkness, I clung to the lucky charm Peter gave me, holding it so tight it felt like the only thing keeping me together.

When he sent me off to Boscunan, his eyes were rimmed with red, but he still tried to put on a brave face, acting like it was no big deal.

He fidgeted forever before finally pulling out a lucky charm from his pocket and shoving it into my hand.

"Just happened to get it," he muttered, his neck stiff and his ears burning bright red. "I was worried you'd get bullied abroad. Keep it, okay? It's from me and I've never given anything to another girl before." His voice got quieter and quieter, his face turning even redder.

I couldn't help but smile, and right in front of him, I carefully hung the lucky charm around my neck. He avoided my eyes, so embarrassed he nearly tripped over his own feet.

As the plane took off, I watched his figure get smaller and smaller, and made a silent vow. 'Peter, wait for me. I'll come back.'

During my first year in Boscunan, Peter's messages always found their way to me, no matter the time difference.

Every morning at eight, he'd text, [Good morning,] and every night at ten, [Good night.]

He'd excitedly share every little thing, such as: [Zoe, Brody Carter's dog had another litter. They're so ugly, they look like baby rats], [Why are you taking so long to reply? Is your homework more important than me?] and [I found a house with a yard. When you come back, we'll finally have our own place.]

His last message came during a night filled with fireworks.

He wrote: [Man, rich folks are on another level. Their fireworks are so fancy. When you come back, I'll set off fireworks for you, all night long.]

But after mentioning the fancy fireworks, I never heard from him again. Then came news that Peter had fallen off a private yacht and was lost at sea, never to be found.

I didn't believe it.

I rushed back, half out of my mind, breaking past the barricades and screaming Peter's name into the sea again and again, desperate for any sign of him. But all I got back was the icy crash of the waves.

Meanwhile, the owner of the yacht, Grady was upstairs, holding his precious Erica close, sipping coffee in the top-floor restaurant.

"Grady, it's just a dead body. Why make such a big deal out of it?" Erica said, her words sweet but laced with poison, dressed in a flawless white gown.

Grady handed her a glass of juice, his voice indulgent and dismissive, like he was talking about the weather. "It's just a worthless life. Why let it bother you? As long as I'm here, nothing can go wrong."

Two weeks later, the case closed with the police calling it an "accidental drowning".

From beginning to end, the real killer never showed his face. Months later, I finally learned the yacht belonged to Grady, the prestigious golden boy of Boscunan's elite circle.

I never thought I'd run into Erica so soon.

She was dressed in the latest Chanel, surveying Grady's greenhouse like it was her personal domain, with Grady leading her around.

Grady showed her around the greenhouse. It was something he'd built on a whim but rarely set foot in.

Erica's chin was lifted as she surveyed the greenhouse as if she was a queen touring her domain.

But in reality, for the past three years, I was the one taking care of every single plant in this place.

"Miss Clark," she said, stopping to run her fingers over the gladiolus I'd nurtured with care, her voice dripping with feigned surprise. "Who would've thought someone as delicate as you could be so good with plants?"

Before I could even respond, she casually snapped off a perfectly blooming gladiolus, her movements slow and deliberate, the challenge in her eyes impossible to miss.

Chapter 2

There was a time when I was my parents' little princess, the apple of their eye.

But a car accident shattered everything. In just one night, I lost everything. I sank into a deep depression and shut myself off from everyone, turning into a shadow of who I used to be.

It was during those darkest days at the care facility that I met Peter Moore.

Everyone there was afraid of him. Like me, he was branded a "problem."

But unlike me, who just faded into silence and withered away, he was like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Peter would sneer and hurl sharp words at any doctor or nurse who tried to get close.

He was always this thorny, rebellious loner, keeping everyone at a distance.

But I was the special one.

He knew I was terrified of thunder, so every stormy night, he'd wait outside my room in the hallway, silent as a statue, only dragging his numb legs away when the rain finally stopped.

He found a soda can tab and spent a whole month working it against his knuckle, turning it into a crooked "ring." When people mocked me for undesirable, he slipped it forcibly onto my finger.

He said, "Zoe, when you're with me, you can be a princess again."

Grady would never understand that he didn't ruin a nobody. He had ruined someone who, with all his fierce tenderness, dragged me out of the darkness. Peter was my entire world.

"Peter, you broke your promise," I whispered.

Curled up in the darkness, I clung to the lucky charm Peter gave me, holding it so tight it felt like the only thing keeping me together.

When he sent me off to Boscunan, his eyes were rimmed with red, but he still tried to put on a brave face, acting like it was no big deal.

He fidgeted forever before finally pulling out a lucky charm from his pocket and shoving it into my hand.

I couldn't help but smile, and right in front of him, I carefully hung the lucky charm around my neck. He avoided my eyes, so embarrassed he nearly tripped over his own feet.

As the plane took off, I watched his figure get smaller and smaller, and made a silent vow. 'Peter, wait for me. I'll come back.'

During my first year in Boscunan, Peter's messages always found their way to me, no matter the time difference.

Every morning at eight, he'd text, [Good morning,] and every night at ten, [Good night.]

His last message came during a night filled with fireworks.

He wrote: [Man, rich folks are on another level. Their fireworks are so fancy. When you come back, I'll set off fireworks for you, all night long.]

But after mentioning the fancy fireworks, I never heard from him again. Then came news that Peter had fallen off a private yacht and was lost at sea, never to be found.

I didn't believe it.

Meanwhile, the owner of the yacht, Grady was upstairs, holding his precious Erica close, sipping coffee in the top-floor restaurant.

"Grady, it's just a dead body. Why make such a big deal out of it?" Erica said, her words sweet but laced with poison, dressed in a flawless white gown.

Two weeks later, the case closed with the police calling it an "accidental drowning".

From beginning to end, the real killer never showed his face. Months later, I finally learned the yacht belonged to Grady, the prestigious golden boy of Boscunan's elite circle.

I never thought I'd run into Erica so soon.

She was dressed in the latest Chanel, surveying Grady's greenhouse like it was her personal domain, with Grady leading her around.

Grady showed her around the greenhouse. It was something he'd built on a whim but rarely set foot in.

Erica's chin was lifted as she surveyed the greenhouse as if she was a queen touring her domain.

But in reality, for the past three years, I was the one taking care of every single plant in this place.

Before I could even respond, she casually snapped off a perfectly blooming gladiolus, her movements slow and deliberate, the challenge in her eyes impossible to miss.