Chapter 3

Steam drifted through the air as the man stepped out of the mist like something unreal.

The cup in Sophie's hand slipped to the floor and shattered, but she didn't even notice.

She could only stare at him, unable to look away.

All the dirt had been washed away, revealing a face that could make even top celebrities fade into the background.

Damp golden-brown hair fell across his forehead, and droplets traced his sharply cut features. His brows were strong and his eyes a clear blue-gray.

His features looked like God's finest work. His blue-gray eyes, cleared of fear and confusion, reflected her stunned face.

His physique was flawless: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and smooth, powerful muscle definition without looking excessive. Hidden beneath those loose, filthy clothes had been a perfect body worthy of a male model.

Sophie swallowed hard and thought, 'Is this really the poor man I found in the alley? With that face and body, even as a beggar he would draw every eye. How did he end up so miserable?'

The man seemed embarrassed under her stare. Barefoot, he stood there awkwardly, fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of the T-shirt.

Though Sophie had bought it for Henry, it outlined this man's physique perfectly, making her realize Henry had never deserved it.

"You..." Sophie's throat felt dry. She wanted to ask who he was, what his name was, and how he'd ended up like that, yet she didn't know where to begin.

The man only tilted his head, his clear eyes full of confusion.

Then his stomach growled, shattering the silence. His face flushed bright red as he covered his stomach and looked at Sophie sheepishly.

"Hungry..." He murmured.

Sophie was amused by his innocent, adorable look. The awe and distance she'd felt moments ago vanished instantly. No matter how handsome he was, if he wasn't bright, he was still a fool—a hungry fool.

"Wait here. The takeout should arrive soon," Sophie said as she found a broom and swept the broken glass from the floor. Just as she finished cleaning, the doorbell rang.

The delivery arrived with a large serving of barbecue ribs, mashed potatoes, and hot soup. The rich aroma filled the apartment.

The man was drawn over at once, his eyes shining as he stared at the food in her hands and swallowed repeatedly. He looked exactly like a large dog waiting to be fed.

Sophie set the meal and a fork before him. "Eat."

He struggled with the fork, then grabbed a rib with his hand and wolfed it down.

He ate as if starving. Sauce and bits of potato covered his face, but he did not care. His eyes narrowed happily, like a cat that had stolen a bite of fish.

Watching him eat with no regard for appearances, Sophie felt no disgust, only a pang of heartache. She pulled out a tissue and silently wiped the grease from the corner of his mouth.

He paused and looked up with clear blue-gray eyes. His chewing slowed as if savoring the warmth of her fingertips.

Uncomfortable under his stare, Sophie withdrew her hand.

"Slow down. No one's going to take it from you," Sophie said.

Seeming only half to understand, the man nodded and truly slowed down, though his eyes never left her again.

After the meal, Sophie looked at the completely transformed man before her and decided it was time to address a fundamental question. "What's your name?" she asked.

The man stared at her blankly and shook his head.

"You don't remember?" Sophie asked. He shook his head again. It seemed he truly had amnesia—or perhaps there really was something wrong with his head.

Sophie sighed. She could not keep calling him "hey" forever. Looking into his deep blue-gray eyes, she said on impulse, "From now on, your name is Evan Locke."

The man repeated the name after her, enunciating each syllable as though he'd recovered a long-lost treasure. For the first time, light appeared in his eyes.

"Evan Locke." He said it again, then grinned at Sophie. His smile was clean and pure, without a trace of impurity, like warm winter sunlight shining instantly into the frozen depths of her heart.

For a moment, she was lost in a daze.

Just then, her phone buzzed.

It was a WhatsApp message from Christine.

[Sophie, I'm sorry. Henry and I truly love each other. I hope you will bless us. Here is a photo of our new home. Visit this weekend!] [photo] [smiley]

In the photo, Christine nestled against Henry in a lavishly decorated living room. It was the future home Sophie had planned with him countless times. Every detail matched her old vision exactly. Only the lady of the house had changed. How ironic.

Hours earlier, the message would have crushed her. Now she looked calmly at the two hypocrites, then at Evan studying the screen beside her.

Henry and Christine were nothing more than a stained sheet of scrap paper she had casually tossed away. Sophie smiled, hit delete, then blocked every way either of them could contact her.

Goodbye, my filthy past.

Afterward, Sophie looked at Evan. She thought, 'There is only one bed. Where are we supposed to sleep tonight?'

Sophie studied Evan Locke's incomparably handsome face and near-perfect physique, and for the first time, an improper thought crossed her mind. But it vanished in a flash. She wasn't Christine; she could never do something so shameless.

She made a pallet beside the bed. "Sleep here tonight." Evan looked from the soft bed to the floor, grievance flickering in his blue-gray eyes, but lay down obediently.

Sophie turned off the light and lay down in bed, but she tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep.

Everything that had happened that day felt like some absurd dream: betrayal, a breakup, and then somehow bringing home a devastatingly handsome stranger.

She didn't know what the future held, but she did know one thing—her life had started over the moment she walked out that door.

In the dark, she could hear Evan's light breathing from the floor, even and steady. Somehow, listening to it slowly calmed the chaos in her heart.

Maybe bringing him home wasn't such a bad thing after all. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.