As soon as Mia Grant finished speaking, Yates Donovan’s lowered eyelids shot up.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Gazing at the night scenery rushing past the window, Yates Donovan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He asked in an ambiguous tone, "Does it have to do with me?"

Mia Grant: "No."

"Then I don’t want to know."

"..."

"I don’t care about other people’s business. I’m not as righteous as you are. I only care about myself."

Worried he might be upset, Mia Grant explained, "It’s probably a good thing it has nothing to do with you."

"At the very least, you’re the only one I dare to talk about this kind of thing with."

"Then let me ask again."

"Is it related to that story you told me last time?"

"What story?" Mia Grant didn’t immediately recall.

Yates Donovan precisely recalled the time and place. "That infuriating story of yours."

Mia Grant was surprised. "You still remember that?"

"More than just remember. I had a nightmare the night I heard it."

"...Huh?"

"What did you dream about?"

"You want to know?"

"Then you answer my question first."

"..."

"I guess it’s not really related. After all, that was just a dream."

After saying that, Mia Grant immediately pressed him for an answer.

Yates Donovan was silent for a moment, then chuckled. "I’ll tell you next time we meet."

"???"

"Hey! How could you do that? We had a deal, didn’t we?"

"Who made a deal with you?" Yates Donovan reneged. "I certainly didn’t."

Mia Grant was speechless.

She didn’t bother responding and just hung up on him.

’What’s with this guy?’

On the other end, Yates Donovan stared at the disconnected call, not the least bit surprised.

He’d done it on purpose.

’She didn’t want to continue this topic.’

’But she couldn’t help it. She was curious about my dream.’

’She probably wanted to probe and see what I knew.’

’So there was no need to continue. The topic was inappropriate for the moment.’

As for the nightmare...

He hadn’t lied to her. Her story had triggered a nightmare that was, in a way, a continuation of it.

In the dream, he seemed to have met the "her" from the story.

Wretched, fragile, lonely, and empty.

"Sir?"

"Sir!"

In the dream, he came to his senses, his gaze sweeping over her features.

The girl looked at him strangely. "Aren’t you going to order?"

"What... what are you doing here?" he asked.

"..." The girl glanced around, and after confirming he was speaking to her, her expression grew even stranger. "Call me when you’re ready to order."

"Wait!"

He grabbed her hand.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she violently wrenched her hand away with a sharp gasp.

Her reaction was violent. Her hand hit the back of a chair, but she didn’t even have time to check it as she stumbled backward, watching him warily. "What are you doing! If you touch me again, I-I’m calling the police!"

"I..." Before he could say anything, someone came running over at the sound of the commotion. It seemed to be the manager, who kept apologizing to him. Then, he turned and snapped at the girl, "Mia Grant, do you want to keep this job or not! Apologize to the customer, now!"

"But he touched me first, I..."

"Apologize! If you don’t, then pack your things and get out!"

"..."

’Mia Grant.’

His head was throbbing.

His thoughts were a mess, so much so that he couldn’t tell who she really was.

The name was familiar, and there was a resemblance in her features.

But something just felt wrong.

Before he could react, the girl suddenly bowed deeply. "I’m sorry."

"No, it was my fault," he tried to explain, but the manager had already sent her away.

He waited and waited, finally catching her when she got off work.

But she walked so, so fast with her head down. When he called her name, she started to run.

Realizing he must have scared her, he slowed down, following her from a distance.

That night, it felt like they walked a very, very long way.

He followed her through a labyrinth of twists and turns until they reached an unfamiliar residential area.

The complex here had no property management and no security gates; anyone could come and go freely. There weren’t even any streetlights, and the environment was filthy and chaotic.

As soon as she entered the complex, a drunken old hooligan noticed her and catcalled at her with a whistle.

Her pace quickened. He thought she would head upstairs, where she would be safe.

But instead, she stopped in front of a low doorway, pulled out a key, and quickly vanished inside.

Only then did he realize it was a studio apartment converted from a garage.

She didn’t dare turn on the lights after going in. The drunkard started knocking on her door. "Open up, sweetheart. C’mon, let’s have a drink together."

"Open the door! You little bitch, open the door!"

The drunkard tried the doorknob, and when he found it locked, he started kicking it instead.

The door wasn’t sturdy; it shook and trembled like the girl’s own fragile body.

He grabbed the drunkard by the collar, practically dragging and throwing the man aside.

In the struggle, the drunkard’s liquor bottle went flying, smashing a glass pane on the door.

The girl’s terrified scream came from inside.

Fighting through his headache, he grabbed a brick from the ground and brought it down hard.

Finally, everything went quiet.

He got up from the ground and glanced back at the drafty door, trying to find the girl’s silhouette in the black hole of the broken window.

After a long moment, he searched his pockets and pulled out everything of value he had on him.

He walked to the door. The girl seemed to be sitting on the floor, leaning against it, as she clearly heard his approaching footsteps.

By the moonlight, he could see the girl’s feet, the shattered bottle by her side, and the piece of broken glass clutched in her trembling hand.

It sounded like someone had called the police; sirens grew louder as they approached.

He didn’t hesitate. Taking a deep breath, he shoved everything through the broken window. "Hush money. Take it and get out of here. If I ever see you here again, you’re dead."

After that final threat, he turned and left, taking the unconscious drunkard and the bloodstains he’d wiped from the ground with his jacket with him.

He walked a long, long way. When he reached the entrance of the complex, he couldn’t help but stop and look back.

’I wanted to see her one more time.’

The little, broken door was still shrouded in darkness.

From a distance, he thought he saw her secretly peering out at him through the hole.

But she quickly shrank back in fear.

’Sigh.’

’How could she be so timid?’

’Completely different from how she is now.’

’Oh well.’

’Just live a good life from now on.’

’Please...’

He couldn’t quite remember what happened after that.

He only remembered that, in the end, the girl never walked out of that dilapidated door.

She clearly had the chance to take his money and choose a better life.

And yet...

She stayed there.

In that small, drafty room, on that deserted winter night.

Like the little match girl from the fairy tale, she quietly fell asleep.

Fate is like a knot; no matter how tangled and intertwined the process, it seems impossible to escape the predetermined ending.

"Young Master?"

Yates Donovan turned his stiff neck and calmly looked toward the passenger seat.

Mr. Payne froze, the words on the tip of his tongue changing to—"Sir... are you... cr-crying?"

Yates Donovan paused, then realized. He curled his fingers and scraped a knuckle across the corner of his eye.

Looking down, he saw a single, glistening teardrop.

The next second, he laughed out loud. "Ah, that little brat... she really is..."

He seemed to have so much he wanted to say, but in the end, it all dissolved into a helpless sigh. "I must have owed her in a past life."