A Night of Terrors


    M couldn''t sleep a wink until dawn, with the lights in her room burning all night long.


    Early morning.


    She descended to the first floor, her eyes shadowed with dark circles. Forrest, emerging from the kitchen, paused at the sight of her, his gaze lingering on the faint bruising under her eyes, but he didn''t pry.


    "Mimi, why don''t you catch a bit more sleep?" he suggested gently as he set the freshly made breakfast on the table. "I couldn''t make your favorite hashbrowns since we''re out of potatoes, but I did whip up some cinnamon pastries for you."


    M always had a penchant for sweet, sticky fried foods for breakfast, especially the lighter hashbrowns. It surprised her that, after all these years, Forrest still remembered. Reflecting on the past seven years, she realized that because Lysander and Adrian favored spicy foods, her preferences were often overlooked at home, except by Felicity.


    A mix of emotions stirred within her.


    Forrest returned from the kitchen with a steaming cup of sweet soy milk for her and, after removing his apron, sat down across from her with his own coffee and a te of sandwiches.


    They sat facing each other, eating breakfast, a scene so familiar it whisked M back to their university days.


    Back then, Forrest was a senior at Northpoint University, a direct-entry PhD student and a renowned prodigy in theputer sciences; M was just a freshman, fresh from her hometown to Kingsford. Their worlds should never have collided, yet they met by chance.


    Their shared academic interests led M to seek his guidance frequently, and Forrest always showed patience. Over time, they grew close, often working on projects together and sharing countless meals.


    The ovep of past and present blurred M''s reality, making her feel as if she were still in university-before everything changed so dramatically. "Mimi? Mimi?"


    Forrest''s gentle voice broke through her reverie, and she looked up to find his eyes filled with concern.


    "What''s wrong?"


    M shook her head and took a bite of the cinnamon pastry. The warm, sweet syrup flowed in her mouth, perfectly bnced in sweetness and temperature.


    "You''re still such a great cook," she remarked.


    Forrest adjusted his sses with a smile. “Living abroad, I often cooked dishes from home to reminisce. My cooking skills didn''t suffer, and I even picked up a few Western desserts. I can make you a variety of treats."


    ...


    "...Thank you."


    Avoiding his gaze, M focused on her breakfast, sipping the sweet soy milk, her mind elsewhere.


    Her thoughts were consumed by the image of Lysander with a bloodied head.


    In her panic, she hadn''t thought through her actions and grabbed the nearest object to hurl at Lysander. Now, the fear set in. With so much blood, what if he couldn''t be saved?


    Surely not. The Montgomery family, with all their resources, could easily secure the best doctors and equipment. Saving a life shouldn''t be difficult.


    But what if—what if he didn''t make it? Would she end up in prison?


    The thought lodged in her mind, a suffocating weight. It was this fear and anxiety that gued her, making sleep impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, nightmares of Lysander''s bloodied visage or her own arrest haunted her. Neither scenario allowed her any peace.