Thomas was nothing like his father.

His father was a notorious playboy, frequenting high-end brothels yet somehow dodging every scandal.


Thomas was almost ridiculously innocent.

Just a slight glance from me would make him blush and stammer.

He was also incredibly attentive.


I only mentioned once that I hated coriander.

After that, the food he brought me never contained coriander again.


When I coughed twice while talking, the next day there would be a box of throat lozenges on my desk with a note: "Weather's getting cold. Bundle up. Don't catch a cold."

Next to it would be a little round smiley face drawn in blue ink.

I once casually mentioned that I'd never been on a Ferris wheel.

He cleared an entire day during vacation to take me to an amusement park where we tried every ride.

That was my first time on a Ferris wheel. I was so nervous my palms were drenched in sweat.

He kept wiping my hands with his handkerchief and covered my eyes.

He said if I couldn't see, I wouldn't be afraid.

When the Ferris wheel reached its highest point, he took my hand.

At that moment, fireworks exploded across the night sky, bursting into cascades of red, gold, and blue. The lights reflected in Thomas's eyes as he looked at me.

He leaned in, his voice so gentle I almost didn't hear him over the distant booms. "Claire, I love you."

My heart stopped beating.

The boy before me had the gentlest eyes I'd ever seen.

He was so sincere, determined, and pure—like sunlight trapped in amber.

I almost forgot why I had approached him, wanting only to stay by his side forever.

He used his tenderness to chip away at the fortress around my heart, melting away some of the cold and loneliness.

But as the Ferris wheel gradually descended from its peak, as the fireworks faded into silence, my heart sank bit by bit.

I stared intently at his face, suddenly seeing his father's features—the same jawline, the same nose. The resemblance I'd been ignoring hit me like a physical blow.

That man who betrayed my mother.

He forced her to leave her home, made her homeless, to be raped by a stranger on unfamiliar streets.

Then I was born.

Thomas said he loved me, but did he know what kind of person I was?

Did he know I was the product of such violence?

Suddenly I wanted to laugh in his face, telling him word by word, "Thomas, I'm a rapist's daughter. You're in love with a rapist's daughter."

"Claire, what's wrong?"

Thomas waved his hand in front of my eyes, looking at me nervously, panic flashing across his face.

I shook my head, burying those dark thoughts.

I remembered he had just confessed to me and was surely waiting for my answer.

He was still useful to me, so I couldn't reject him too harshly.

After thinking for a moment, I gently withdrew my hand.

"Thomas, I'm sorry, but I'm focusing on my studies right now and don't want to consider anything else."

After hearing my words, obvious disappointment filled his eyes.

But he quickly smiled. "It's okay, I can wait. Wait until you're ready. Claire, I really love you."

He was true to his word, showing no signs of giving up. Instead, he became even more attentive.

He pursued me for two years, and I used those two years to plan, constantly waiting for an opportunity to approach Richard Collins.

Patience pays off—I finally got my chance.