Chapter 212: ... to cultivate our feelings better.

One of the reasons Adelyn didn’t think of getting involved in romance was that she knew she was biologically not capable of it.

At first, she hadn’t understood it herself. It had only been a vague sense of disconnect ... a quiet difference she couldn’t quite name. But later, the doctors explained everything to her in clear, clinical terms.

She was one of those rare cases that existed in the world.

The feeling of love, they told her, was driven by a complex interplay of brain chemicals—primarily oxytocin and dopamine.

In her case, she had naturally low receptor sensitivity to oxytocin. That imbalance, in turn, affected her baseline dopamine levels, making it biologically difficult for her brain to register emotions associated with romantic attachment or deep intimacy.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t understand love.

She simply couldn’t feel it the way others did.

And that ... explained everything.

It explained why heartbreak never truly hurt her —not even on the day when everything should have shattered. Not even when she saw Xavier choose to protect Clara ... when he should have protected her first.

There had been disappointment.

Perhaps even a flicker of something that resembled betrayal.

But pain?

No.

Not the kind that lingered.

Not the kind that broke a person.

"But ... you did accept our relationship back then, didn’t you?" Xavier asked, his voice laced with desperation, as though clinging to the last fragile thread between them.

Adelyn smiled faintly and nodded.

"Yes," she admitted calmly. "I did cherish it once."

She didn’t deny it.

"Because I learned to cherish the things that belonged to me." Her voice remained even —unhurried, unaffected.

"But that only happens when something ... or someone ... belongs to me, Dr. Colsen." Her gaze met his, steady and unwavering. "Once they stop belonging to me ... I don’t care at all."

Xavier’s fingers curled tightly into fists at his sides, his knuckles paling. His jaw hardened, tension evident in every line of his face.

"You are really cruel."

To any other woman, those words might have been an insult.

But Adelyn—

She merely smiled. And nodded. "Being cruel," she said lightly, "isn’t as bad as it sounds."

There was no defensiveness in her tone. No denial.

Only acceptance.

Then, as though concluding a business conversation rather than severing something far more personal, she gestured toward the door.

"If you’re done," she said politely, "I would appreciate it if you leave, Dr. Colsen."

Her voice wasn’t loud. Yet it pierced straight through him —clean, precise, and final. It carried a weight that words alone couldn’t explain.

Xavier stood there for a moment longer, looking at her as if trying to memorize something that was already gone.

Something he would never get back.

And perhaps something he had already lost long ago.

In the end, he said nothing.

He simply turned ...

And left.

The sound of the door closing behind him echoed faintly in the quiet apartment.

Only after he was gone did Adelyn finally let out a slow breath. Relief settled into her chest —not overwhelming, but present.

Just as she turned back from the door, her phone rang.

The sudden sound broke the silence, pulling her attention immediately.

Frowning slightly, she wondered who could be calling her at this hour.

Her steps carried her back toward the kitchen, where she had left her phone on the counter earlier.

The screen lit up just as she reached for it —almost at the last second before the call could disconnect.

Her fingers paused mid-air when she saw the name flashing on the screen.

A flicker of confusion crossed her face.

"Why is he calling at this hour?" she muttered softly to herself.

Still, she answered.

Lifting the phone to her ear, she waited.

A second passed.

Then another.

Silence lingered on the other end.

Even after several moments, no one spoke.

So she did.

"Mr. Warren?"

A low hum came through the line —deep, smooth, unmistakably his.

Adelyn waited, expecting him to say something more.

But when the silence stretched again, she decided to speak first.

"You’re calling me this late, Mr. Warren," she said, her tone deliberately neutral. "Was there something you needed?"

There was a brief pause.

Then—

"Did I disturb you?"

The question caught her slightly off guard. Instinctively, she shook her head—

Only to realize, a second later, that he couldn’t see her.

"Oh—no," she corrected quickly. "You definitely didn’t disturb me. I was just about to call you anyway."

The moment the words left her mouth—

She froze.

Adelyn blinked.

Did she just say that?

How ... did she end up lying again?

There had been no intention.

No preparation.

And yet, somehow, the words had slipped out naturally.

Too naturally.

But now that she had said it—

There was no taking it back.

So, forcing a bright smile onto her lips —even though he couldn’t see it —she leaned into it.

"You were about to call me?" Dylan asked, a flicker of amusement laced in his voice, subtle but there.

"Yes, of course," she added, her tone overly deliberate, almost exaggerated. "We’re in the early stage of a relationship. You’re my boyfriend. Calling you every day is only natural, isn’t it?"

Even to her own ears—

It sounded unconvincing.

Awkward.

Forced.

Anyone listening carefully could easily tell it was a lie.

And she knew it too.

She could feel it in the stiffness of her voice.

Just as the silence stretched again —longer this time—

She felt a flicker of unease.

Had he noticed?

Of course he had.

He wasn’t someone who would miss something like that.

Trying to recover, she quickly added,

"But it’s completely understandable if you don’t want to make that a routine. I know you’re busy, and talking every day might not be convenient. In that case ..." she hesitated briefly before continuing, "I can call you on weekends. Or even just once a month."

"That’s okay."

He interrupted her.

His response was so short and vague enough that she couldn’t immediately tell what he meant.

Adelyn blinked, confused.

"Huh? Did you agree to the weekend option ... or the once-a-month option, Mr. Warren?"

There was a pause.

And then—

"The everyday one," he answered.

His voice was calm.

Casual.

Yet firm enough to leave no room for misunderstanding.

Adelyn’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the kitchen counter.

"The everyday one?" she repeated, a hint of disbelief slipping into her voice. "Why?"

Silence.

Then she tried again.

"I mean ... I really wouldn’t mind even if we kept it to once a week. Your schedule must be busy—"

"It’s fine."

He cut her off again.

This time, his tone carried a quiet reassurance.

"We’ve just started," he said. "You’re my girlfriend. It’s only right that we talk every day."

Adelyn fell silent.

Completely.

Weren’t those—

Her exact words?

Why was he using them against her like this?

No—

Not against her.

Just ... returning them.

Calmly.

Naturally.

Without hesitation.

Could she even argue against that?

No.

She had walked into this herself.

"Right," she agreed. "It’s only right ... for us to cultivate our feelings better."

Dylan hummed softly in response.

And just like that—

It was decided.

In trying to cover one lie—

She had created a responsibility.

From now on ...

She would have to call him.

Every day.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

How did she always manage to dig herself deeper every single time?

And worse—

Why did it feel like every time ...

She herself was tightening the net ... making the way out more difficult than before?