Seeing her eyes squeezed shut and her face pale, Lucian panicked. He was ready to scoop her up and rush to the nearest hospital. "I'm okay," Darcy gasped, taking deep breaths and patting her chest. "Probably just low blood sugar from getting up so early." Lucian instantly regretted it. He'd been selfish, thinking only of himself and not of her feelings. He took her straight for hot cocoa right away, and after a few slow sips of the warm, sweet, creamy drink, her dizziness faded completely. Darcy looked at him, amazed and a little reproachful. "This is so good. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Lucian smiled wryly. "Way too much sugar. Not for every day." It was Darcy's first visit to a bazaar. Every shopfront was new to her, yet a strange, comforting sense of familiarity washed over her. It felt like home.Weird. Maybe before the amnesia, Lucian and I used to come a lot. The variety of street food was endless. Darcy ate her way through several stalls, filling up so much she lost all appetite for lunch. She was contemplating where to go next to walk it off when she noticed Lucian checking his phone. This guy. On a date and still working? Such a workaholic. The thought of work made her heart sink again. She scratched her head and asked, "Is there any way to replace my ID? Once I have it, I can start looking for a real job." Lucian just smiled, not answering. Instead, he looked at her intently. "Come on. Come get something to eat with me." Darcy patted her very full stomach, stuffed with hot cocoa and snacks. But thinking of Lucian wandering with her all morning without a bite, she nodded without hesitation. "Okay." Inside a bustling restaurant, they sat across from each other. Darcy propped her chin in her hand, quietly watching Lucian eat. His table manners were impeccable. This guy isn't just easy on the eyes; even the way he eats is pleasing to watch. No wonder the landlord's granddaughter has her sights set on him. Lucian looked up, and their gazes locked. Caught staring, Darcy felt a flush of heat and awkwardness. "Ahem, so," she quickly changed the subject, "tell me more about our past. I want to know what kind of person I really was." Lucian took a napkin from the dispenser and wiped his mouth. After a long beat, he said, "I'll tell you a story." A story? Darcy was all ears. "What story?" Lucian thought for a second. "A story about a poor boy who, to avenge his first love, stayed by a wealthy heiress' side for eight long years, waiting for his chance."Darcy's eyes lit up. "I know this one! The poor boy ends up falling in love with the heiress!" A bitter smile touched Lucian's lips. "No. He fell in love with someone else." Darcy blinked. That's not how it goes in the dramas. She straightened up. "Start from the beginning." Half an hour later, Darcy took a sip of water from her glass, her expression thoughtful. "His uncle is a really good man." Lucian was torn between laughter and exasperation. "Is that really your main takeaway?" Darcy gripped her glass, took a deep breath, and looked up at him, her gaze serious. "So, the poor boy in the story is you. Your first love passed away. Then... who am I?" She ran a hand through her hair, her heart suddenly pounding with nervous dread. "I'm not... the heiress, am I?" Lucian shook his head. He leaned forward, cupping her face in his hands. "Of course you're not." "Then who am I?" Her voice wavered. "I thought I was your girlfriend. Everyone kept saying I was. But I'm not. Lucian, who the hell am I?" "You're actually—" At that exact moment, a tall, imposing figure materialized silently behind Darcy. It was impossible to tell how long he had been standing there, or what he had heard. Lucian's words died in his throat. He released her, sinking back into his seat. His right fist clenched tightly under the table, every muscle straining as he forced the words out with immense effort. "Your real boyfriend is here to take you home." Darcy froze. Slowly, instinctively, she turned. A tall, lean figure stood just two feet behind her—and she froze, words catching in her throat, glancing from Lucian to the newcomer and back again. Jethro was clad in a black overcoat. He was slightly breathless, as if he'd walked too fast. Now, he stood utterly still, his eyes fixed on Darcy as if she were a miracle he feared would vanish if he blinked. These past days, he'd burned with anxiety, unable to eat or sleep. People kept gently telling him to let go, trying to plant the idea that Darcy was gone. But Jethro refused to believe it. He knew she was still out there. Alive or dead, he'd find her. With that belief, he worked at a brutal pace by day to fill the hole in his chest. At night, he personally checked every search detail, telling himself over and over that Darcy was alive, refusing to quit. Until the call came from Edmund. Darcy was in Londyn. She was safe. And she had amnesia. Until Edmund called and told him Darcy was in Londyn. She was safe, just lost her memory for now. Only then did he let himself breathe.Darcy studied the man's face in front of her—gentle, refined, born to privilege—and the panic in her chest eased. Exactly as my intuition remembered. So, this is my real boyfriend? Well, my taste isn't half bad.