Emily closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing, pushing down the emotions surging within her. “Mr. Norman, this is the ladies' restroom,” she said, her voice strained. “I know,” Satan replied, leaning in, seemingly inhaling the scent of her hair. “You changed your shampoo too.” “Mr. Norman, I came to the Great Wall Group to provide design support, not to discuss shampoos or menstrual cycles with you,” Emily said, her frustration barely concealed. Satan didn’t stop, lifting a strand of her hair from her shoulder, bringing it to his nose. “It’s true, it’s different. You used to use gardenia—light and fresh. Now, it’s lavender, much stronger.” Emily had enough. She reached out and gave him a hard push. Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to resist physically; he stumbled back a couple of steps. Free at last, Emily almost ran out, as though chased by a hundred demons. She wanted nothing more than to leave this place—especially when she was alone with him. Her menstrual cycle, her shampoo, everything about her—she had been trying to change it all these past three years, trying to erase every trace of who she used to be. But his scent hadn’t changed at all. It was the same cologne she had picked out for him years ago at the Hilton hotel, room 2307—the scent only she was familiar with. When he leaned in earlier, she had smelled it instantly. Suddenly, Emily felt like laughing. After all this time, with everything he’d done to bring her back, what did he really want? Her phone rang suddenly. She took a deep breath, wiping the dampness from her face before answering. “Hello?” “My dear girlfriend, why haven’t you called me since you got off the plane? Do you know how worried I was? I was scared that my brand-new girlfriend might just vanish.” Jackson’s voice held a hint of complaint. Emily took another breath, trying to steady her emotions. Yes, Jackson was her boyfriend now. “Sorry, I went straight into a meeting right after landing. I’ve been busy until now.”Jackson groaned theatrically. “These people, honestly, don’t they have any compassion? Making a beautiful woman work like a machine? No, you give me their boss's number—I need to give him a piece of my mind.” His over-the-top complaining made Emily smile a little. She knew Jackson was just trying to cheer her up, trying to ease her exhaustion. She let out a small smile. “How are you?” “I’m dying.” “What?” “I miss you so much I’m dying,” Jackson grumbled. “I just woke up, and every time I close my eyes, all I can think of is you. And you just flew back to New York without letting me see or touch you. I’m in agony.” Emily tried to comfort him. “As soon as I’m done with this job, I’ll come right back.” “Soon, okay?” Jackson sighed. “Emily, I’m a little worried.” “What are you worried about?” “I had a dream last night. In the dream, you told me that you agreeing to be with me and promising to cook for me was all just my imagination. It wasn’t real, and you’d still refuse me.” Jackson sounded distressed. “Please give me some reassurance, will you? This is real, right? I’m not just imagining it, am I?” Down the hall, behind her, she heard voices greeting someone. “Good afternoon, Mr. Norman.” “Good afternoon, Mr. Norman.” Emily glanced back, and sure enough, Satan was a short distance behind her, maintaining that infuriatingly steady distance. When she stopped, he stopped too, making no secret of the fact that he was following her. Emily frowned and quickly moved away, speaking into the phone. “Jackson, something just came up. I have to go now. I’ll call you when I can, alright?” She ended the call and turned sharply into a stairwell, heading straight down. She refused to believe that he, the CEO, surrounded by people, would still have the nerve to follow her in here. But her phone rang again.Emily assumed it was Jackson and answered, apologizing. “Can I call you later? Right now I—” “Call who?” The voice was hoarse, tinged with smoke. It was him. Emily had just returned to the States and was still using her UK number. He had called internationally, with roaming charges? But… how did he even know her number? Without saying a word, Emily tried to hang up. But her finger slipped and hit the speaker button instead. His slightly raspy voice echoed through the empty stairwell. “Emily, how long are you going to keep pretending?” Emily froze. “I knew it was you in that little supermarket in Rome,” he said, sighing. There was a hint of sadness in his voice. “At first, I thought you might have forgotten me—maybe the fire had caused memory loss. But you remembered me, so why did you run?” “Why would I run? Do you really not know?” She closed her eyes, a bitter smile on her face. “My child died. I almost died. If it weren't for Jackson signing those papers, I wouldn't even be alive right now.” Satan's voice was steady, confident. “So it was Jackson who took you away.” “I begged him to take me away. I hated this city. All it gave me was endless pain, every second of it suffocating. I had to leave, just to survive—even if it meant living like a shell of myself.” “Emily, that fire three years ago—Logan and Penelope were behind it. I’ve dealt with both of them. They’ll never show up in front of you again, I promise—” “I don’t need your promises,” Emily cut in firmly. “I am a part of Stardream now. For the company’s reputation and credibility, I will do my job as a designer to the best of my ability. When the project ends, I will leave. Mr. Norman, Dylan hinted at it, and I know you were also a victim in the fire. It hasn’t been easy for you these past years, but that still doesn’t outweigh the pain you caused me.” “Emily…” “Let me go, can you?” Emily leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor, exhaustion in her voice. “Do you remember that haunted house we went to? New York is that haunted house for me. The past is like a series of ghosts appearing out of nowhere. As long as I stay here, I’ll never have peace. So… let me leave, and don’t mention anything about the past. Can you? If you have even a sliver of compassion left for me…” He was silent on the other end, and Emily could hear his breathing. “Emily…” She couldn’t bear to hear another word, ending the call abruptly. His voice was too raw, too pained. She feared that if she listened to one more word, she would soften.