The Unintended Bond

Chapter 5: Different Roads

The early spring of that year still bore a biting chill, and the rain that had fallen the previous night had left a thin layer of ice upon the playground.

Yet, a group of boys played with fervent intensity, their muscular arms glistening with exertion.

Rachel Morgan seated herself upon the stone bleachers. The wind brushed her face with a lingering sharpness, yet she scarcely noticed, her body mirroring the boys’ exertion in a sheen of sweat.

Her gaze remained fixed upon Nathaniel Reed, clad in a white jersey trimmed with blue.

At first, Nathaniel paid no heed, but during a break, as he lifted the water to his lips, his eyes swept the stands and met Rachel’s.

Rachel drew a steadying breath, raised her hand in greeting, then lowered it, clutching the pen case in her grasp with quiet resolve.

Perhaps stirred by her rare initiative, Nathaniel faltered briefly on the court.

A teammate patted his shoulder, urging him onward, and he set down his water and returned to the game.

In the second half, Rachel keenly noted that he glanced back at her several times.

She returned his gaze with a soft smile, her palm damp with nervous sweat around the pen case.

The game was brisk yet drawn out, and at last, Nathaniel’s side triumphed. The boys laughed and jostled as they wrapped up.

Nathaniel moved to the sidelines to gather his things. As he donned his jacket, he cast another glance toward Rachel in the stands.

Her heart quickened at that look. Taking several deep breaths, she rose to her feet.

At that moment, a girl approached—none other than a member of the legal aid team with whom Rachel and Nathaniel had won their competition.

Rachel halted, watching as the girl walked toward Nathaniel with hands clasped behind her back.

The boy stiffened slightly, unaware as she extended a hand from behind, holding a small figurine about the size of a water cup—painted and detailed, depicting a boy playing basketball, clad in the very same white-and-blue jersey Nathaniel wore beneath his jacket.

Suddenly, Rachel recalled that this girl had indeed been arranging for a custom figurine, having painstakingly sought out a finely crafted, albeit costly, workshop.

A chill crept into Rachel’s grasp around the NR pen.

The girl lifted the figurine before Nathaniel’s face.

“Nathaniel Reed, happy birthday!”

Her eyes locked onto his as she suddenly confessed,

“Will you… be my boyfriend?”

The boys lingering at the court erupted into cheers.

The girl’s cheeks flushed a deep red.

Nathaniel hesitated.

Voices rose in teasing laughter.

“Hey, Nathaniel Reed, why aren’t you shaking your head today? What’s this supposed to mean? Are you going to say yes?!”

Rachel Morgan watched as the girl’s eyes lit up, reflecting the sunlight that bathed the basketball court.

Then, Nathaniel Reed spoke, his tone measured and calm.

“I’m sorry, we are not on the same path.”

His voice was neither too loud nor too soft—his refusal was clear, yet it reached Rachel’s ears with quiet certainty.

The girl struggled to maintain her composure.

“Why not the same path? Have you… really not considered it?”

Nathaniel simply shook his head this time, offering no explanation.

The girl’s flushed cheeks deepened into crimson, her eyes now shimmering with unshed tears.

She pressed the gift into Nathaniel’s hand and turned to run away.

Nathaniel glanced at the gift and murmured a soft, “Thank you.”

Some of the boys clustered around, grumbling,

“That’s not very considerate of the girl, is it?”

Nathaniel slung his messenger bag over his shoulder.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. They… truly are not on my path.”

His back was turned to Rachel as he spoke.

Rachel Morgan gazed at his tall, resolute silhouette and suddenly understood.

He was right.

Those destined to part ways need not walk together.

Being frank and clear benefits everyone.

Rachel gently placed the pen case back into her bag and turned away.

She missed the birthday party organized for Nathaniel Reed, her time consumed by other legal aid cases she had taken on.

Nathaniel Reed never returned to the legal aid society.

Rachel remained devoted to the society’s work, eventually becoming its next president.

Before his senior year, Nathaniel decided to pursue studies abroad. Soon after, he accepted an offer from a foreign university and left Harvard behind.

Rachel stayed on at their alma mater, graduating and joining Silverridge, where she continued dedicating much of her time to legal aid. Though well-regarded, she remained an ordinary lawyer.

Nathaniel, returning from abroad, caught the attention of the litigation titan Richard Hawthorne, who personally recruited him to Hawthorne Legal Group. Before long, he became the youngest partner at a prestigious firm.

As Nathaniel himself once said, he had embarked upon a path unlike anyone else’s.

A path of loftier ambitions.

A path that Rachel Morgan, content with being an ordinary lawyer, would never tread.

Indeed, they were not meant to walk the same road.

The rain had eased significantly.

The midnight breeze, brushing against her damp clothes, brought with it a subtle chill.

Ahead, a group of college students, drinks in hand, departed with arms slung casually over each other’s shoulders.

Rachel Morgan scanned the QR code and bought a bottle of water.

Under the faint glow of the vending machine, she pulled out the medicine she had just purchased.

Levonorgestrel tablets, a pack of two.

Take one as soon as possible within 72 hours, followed by another after 12 hours.

She placed the tablet on her tongue and washed it down with the mineral water.

If they were never meant to walk the same road, then perhaps it was best their paths never crossed at all.

——

Rachel Morgan stood under the shower for a long time, scrubbing until her limbs ached, then collapsed into bed.

Sleep came uneasily, fractured by three or four abrupt awakenings through the night.

Darkness still lingered outside. The old apartment complex she rented alone was heavy with the musty scent of the rainy season.

The rain came and went in an endless cycle, and the world beyond her window was swallowed in shadow.

She didn’t want to slip back into another nightmare, yet couldn’t find rest.

Knees drawn to her chest, she sat on the bed for what felt like an eternity.

The pain that flared intermittently across her body reminded her of everything that had unfolded the night before.

The medication’s side effects were beginning to surface—waves of nausea clawing upward from the pit of her stomach.

In all her years working legal aid in Silverridge—making enemies, facing threats, even being stalked—nothing had ever unsettled her quite like this.

Because this time, she didn’t know who wanted to hurt her.

She didn’t even know if the target was her… or Nathaniel Reed.

She dared not imagine what might have happened, had the footsteps outside her door not belonged to the cleaning lady, but to Sophie Hawthorne and the others.

Darkness seeped into every corner within sight.

Who knew what else lurked there, unseen, watching the one standing in the light.

——

It wasn’t until the pale hue of dawn crept across the sky that Rachel Morgan managed to sleep again.

When she next opened her eyes, it was already ten in the morning.

Reaching for her phone, the first thing her gaze fell upon was the medicine box on the nightstand.

Ten o’clock—exactly twelve hours after her first dose.

She took the second tablet immediately.

Though the nausea surged again in protest, she exhaled softly, almost in relief.

May the medication work with absolute certainty.

There were several work-related messages on her phone.

Aside from that, a delivery notification: a package left waiting in a locker.

She recalled then—two days ago, her mother had sent a batch of homemade cookies.

After a quick tidy-up, Rachel tossed the empty medicine box into an already brimming trash bag, tied it up, and carried it downstairs.

Even in the aging suburban complexes of Silverridge, housing prices stubbornly clung to the thousands per square meter, rising but never falling. Yet the tangled, exposed wires and the bicycles crammed together in tight rows rendered the living conditions only marginally better than those of a soon-to-be-demolished inner-city village.

Rachel Morgan had lived here for two years.

She initially shared an apartment with Erin Blake, who worked at the nearby hospital. After Erin transferred to another facility, Rachel moved into a one-bedroom unit in the same neighborhood, continuing her solitary stay.

Puddles speckled the uneven bricks of the communal garden path.

Rachel treaded carefully through the rain, first heading to the parcel locker. She scanned the code, and the topmost compartment clicked open.

Petite in stature, she stretched on tiptoe to reach it, just barely managing.

Closing her umbrella, she tied off her full trash bag and set it aside before standing on her toes once more to retrieve the parcel. As she tugged it loose, the box suddenly slipped from her grasp. Panicked, she reached to catch it—but the heavy package began to fall beyond her control.

Then, from behind her, a pair of hands emerged and caught the parcel securely.

They were large, firm, with clearly defined knuckles—hands that steadied the box and, inadvertently, came into contact with Rachel’s cold, rain-dampened fingers.

The dry warmth from his palm startled her. She withdrew instinctively, and as she turned, she nearly collided with the man’s chest.

She stepped back, but found herself trapped between him and the locker.

He, too, seemed to notice the awkward closeness and stepped aside to create space.

The morning wind, carrying traces of rain, slipped in beneath the narrow awning, deepening the silence that settled between them.

It was Nathaniel Reed who finally spoke.

“For something this heavy, you really should have the courier bring it upstairs.”

Rachel Morgan nodded wordlessly. She didn’t ask how he had found her, merely reached for the parcel.

He was still in yesterday’s dress shirt. The tie had vanished, and two buttons were undone at the collar, the fabric slightly rumpled.

Only now did Rachel notice the fine stubble shadowing his jaw—grown overnight—and the red veins spidering through his eyes. The scent of alcohol had faded, replaced by the lingering smoke of tobacco.

The composed, unshakable attorney she knew now looked worn and weary.

Wind laden with rain brushed through the gap beside them. His voice, raspy and low, broke the hush.

“Rachel Morgan… I’m sorry about yesterday.”

She pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

What happened last night was something neither of them had wished for. Yet Rachel Morgan doubted he had come all this way—traced her address—merely to apologize.

She watched him closely. As expected, a moment later, he drew a small box of pills from his pocket.

Levonorgestrel tablets, the single-dose kind.

Realization dawned on her.

He handed it over, as if he wanted to say something, but found himself at a loss for words.

Rachel understood nonetheless.

His career was on a swift and brilliant rise. And his fiancée, Sophie Hawthorne—whether viewed from the lens of love, ambition, or companionship—was of undeniable importance to him.

His path was already mapped out. He couldn’t afford detours. If anything, he was likely more shaken than Rachel.

She glanced at him briefly, then turned to the vending machine beside the locker and purchased a bottle of water.

Right in front of him, she took the pill.

The rain thickened, falling in veils, fine and endless like a net cast from the heavens.

Her short sleeves grew damp; the trash bag she’d left on the ground gathered droplets that traced slow rivulets down its sides.

The man spoke again, his voice low, “Thank you.”

Rachel offered no reply. Instead, she asked, “Have you found out who it was?”

Nathaniel Reed’s brow furrowed deeply.

After everyone had left the previous night, he had the hotel pull the security footage immediately. But due to a circuit malfunction, some of the recordings were corrupted. The guest room corridor, especially, had been swallowed by darkness—nothing was visible.

“Do you remember who led you to Room 321?” he asked. “Can you recall what they looked like?”

Rachel tried to summon the memory.

But the hallway had been too dim. The staff uniforms too identical. No distinct features came to mind.

Nathaniel fell silent for a moment, then said, “Would you… be willing to come back to the hotel later and try to identify the person?”

The memory of the night sent a shiver through Rachel.

“You have my word,” he said quietly. “You’ll be safe.”

Rachel Morgan lowered her gaze.

“Alright.”

Nathaniel Reed let out a quiet breath. “No matter what, I’ll make sure you get the answers you deserve.”

She nodded.

The conversation had run its course. She turned.

“Then I’ll be going.”

With that, she opened her umbrella, hooked the damp trash bag beside her, and, balancing the heavy parcel in her arms, stepped back into the rain.

“Take care… alright?” his voice came from behind.

Without turning, Rachel Morgan answered with a simple, “Okay,” and walked away.

Nathaniel Reed watched as she disappeared down a narrow path. He was just about to leave, when something caught his eye—

A transparent garbage bag, shifting slightly in her grip, revealing a familiar box inside.

Not the single-dose pack he had brought her—

But a similar box, bearing the same words: Levonorgestrel Tablets.

Nathaniel Reed’s steps faltered.