Chapter 2
1026 Words
The prayer beads scattered across the deck, and Cressida felt as though something inside her chest had come loose and tumbled right along with them.
One of the onlookers laughed loudly and sharply. "Draven, you broke them yourself! Every single one of us saw it happen! Don't you dare try to blame Cressida for this!"
"That's true," Draven said, his voice soft and hollow, his gaze resting calmly on the scattered beads. "I broke them. It wasn't Cressida's fault."
His words took everyone by surprise. They fell silent, standing there staring at him with no idea what to say.
Cressida's face turned cold and hard. She stepped forward quickly and caught hold of his wrist, her grip tight and painful. "You swear to that? And may whoever lies die a terrible death!"
At the sound of that word, death… Draven's hand trembled slightly at his side, and a sharp ache flared once more inside his chest.
"Why are you quiet now?" Cressida pressed, leaning in close. "Are you finally lost for words because you know you're caught?"
"Believe whatever you like," he said. He pulled his arm free of her grasp and knelt.
With everyone watching him in strange silence, he picked the beads up one by one, dropped them into his palm, and walked away without saying another word.
It didn't matter what he said. She would never believe him anyway. So he simply stopped trying.
*****
Half an hour later, Draven returned to their home at Mooncliff Estate.
This was meant to be their marital home. Yet most days he lived there entirely alone.
Aside from the few nights each month that tradition required them to share a room, Cressida would sooner sleep in her office than set foot inside this house.
Draven found a small wooden box and placed the broken beads carefully inside. He had to gather every object tied to their time together, every reminder of their bond.
He had to let go of every earthly attachment before his time ran out, so he could finally be free to move on.
Then a soft, gentle voice broke the heavy silence of the room. "My love, why have you been away so long?"
Draven turned his head. His phone had lit up on the table, and the screen showed Cressida's face, warm and soft and smiling.
It was a custom‑made virtual companion he had created long ago, a perfect 3D replica he had named "Sweet Cressida."
She looked exactly like her. Same face. Same long dark hair. Even the tiny beauty mark at the corner of her eye was perfectly recreated.
There was only one difference: the virtual version looked at him with warmth and tenderness, while the real Cressida looked at him with nothing but loathing and cold disdain.
Draven's heart ached, and memories rushed back to him all at once.
Their families had been bitter rivals for years, divided across the city. Draven had been wild and reckless in his youth, a wealthy heir who feared nothing and answered to no one.
Cressida, on the other hand, had been the very image of grace and poise, the perfect daughter every family admired, wise and composed far beyond her years.
Five years ago, Draven had been beaten nearly to death outside a bar. Cressida had stepped in to help him, setting aside their families' hatred to tend to his wounds.
From that moment on, he had followed her everywhere, determined to repay her kindness and win the heart of the one woman no one else had ever dared pursue.
But Cressida had looked him straight in the eye and refused him plainly.
"Draven," she had said, "the man I want to marry will be mature, steady, and responsible. You are nothing but a reckless, spoiled boy."
From that day forward, Draven changed. He set aside his wild ways, gave up every foolish habit, and buried himself in study and work.
He transformed entirely; the wild heir became the most promising, refined gentleman in the whole city.
Just when he finally felt worthy enough to tell her how he truly felt, word reached him that Cressida was meant to marry Zoren.
His heart turned to ash inside his chest. He had stepped back quietly, accepting his place.
Yet on the night before the wedding, Zoren had come to him.
"Draven," he had said, "I have already given my heart to someone else. Will you take my place? Will you marry Cressida in my stead?"
Draven's pulse had raced. Partly because he still hoped, partly because he could not help himself, he had agreed.
Zoren left the country that very night, and Draven stood at the altar and married Cressida.
No one ever learned the truth. Everyone believed Draven had driven Zoren away out of jealousy, that he had torn two soulmates apart for his own selfish gain. From that day on, Cressida had hated him.
Draven stood there remembering it all, his expression quiet and sad.
On the screen, the virtual Cressida seemed to sense his mood.
Her voice came out soft and mechanical yet gentle. "My love… are you sad?"
Draven looked up at the screen, his gaze resting on the face he had created because the real one had never looked at him with anything but coldness.
Once, this virtual companion had been his only comfort. Now he understood: she had never been anything more than a reflection of his own foolish, stubborn longing.
He reached out and placed his finger over the button marked Reset Memory.
"Sweet Cressida…" he started to say. Erase all data.
Before he could finish speaking, a familiar, cold laugh drifted from the doorway.
"Drave," Cressida said, standing there watching him with narrowed eyes. "Are you truly so desperate and starved for affection that you keep a digital copy of me on your phone just to pretend someone loves you?"
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