"Anne, you should have what the other kids have. Just tell your dad or me whenever you want something, alright?"


    Anneliese''s adoptive mother gently tied her hair into a neat ponytail using a brand- new scrunchie, caressed her head, and smiled with a warmth that made her heart melt.


    Flushing, she hugged her mom lightly. The next morning, she arrived at school before anyone else. She raised her hand for every question in ss, wanting everyone to notice the beautiful scrunchie her mom had made.


    She was certain that no other girl at school owned a scrunchie as exquisite as hers.


    She cherished it like a treasure. Each night, she carefully ced it under her pillow. She wore it daily for over a year, even recing its stic three times.


    Yet eventually, she lost it—after both her parents were gone.


    She had lost her mom, and with her, the precious scrunchie. Countless times, she cried quietly over it, searching every corner in vain.


    Anneliese never imagined that more than ten yearster, she wouldy eyes on that scrunchie again.


    And it happened in the most unexpected way.


    She gripped the hair tie tightly, turning toward Jonathan, her lips trembling.


    "Why do you have the hair tie I wore as a kid?"


    The scrunchie, the portrait in the room that mirrored her so perfectly, and her grandma''s sudden, fiery reaction the instant sheid eyes on him...


    Anneliese sensed she was grazing the edge of a buried truth, yet her memories instinctively recoiled, retreating behind a shielded nk.


    Jonathan reached for her hand gently. He pried open her clenched fingers and lifted the scrunchie from her palm.


    Then he ced a small ck velvet box into her hand.


    Encouraged by him, she opened the box.


    What she saw inside struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her eyes burned instantly.


    Nestled in the brocade box was a blood-stained, charred badge.


    The name embroidered on it read Frederick ude her adoptive father.


    Her hands trembled violently. The box slipped, and she staggered, struggling to stay upright.


    "Honey!"


    Jonathan''s face tensed. He caught her just in time, one strong hand also rescuing the falling box.


    Leaning against his chest, she was suddenly flooded with chaotic, painful images.


    Dark shadows flickered at the edges of her vision. Her face turned ghostly pale, as if all color had been drained.


    Without realizing it, she bit her lip hard. Blood welled between her teeth and lips, yet she felt nothing.


    "Honey! Don''t bite yourself!"


    rmed, Jonathan tilted her chin up, forcing her lips apart.


    Only then did she return to herself, dragging her mind back from the searing memories.


    Her gaze locked on Jonathan. He was still breathtaking, but the usual calm, noble demeanor had vanished. Instead, he radiated worry and tension, with a flicker of panie lurking in his dark eyes.


    It was a strange blend of familiarity and unease. Blinking slowly, she watched the mature man before her merge with the younger;


    soot-streaked boy she remembered, until their faces ovepped in her mind.


    "Honey, don''t frighten me..."


    Her expression was nk, her body rigid. Only the tiny specks of blood on her lips


    betrayed her pain. Voice tight, he moved to pull her into his arms.


    But the moment he did, Anneliese jerked away violently, shoving him hard.


    She threw all her strength into it. Jonathan staggered back, losing his bnce slightly.


    The force sent her stumbling two steps, her knees buckling as she tumbled to the floor.


    "Honey! Did you hurt yourself? Let me take a look."


    Jonathan crouched, reaching to lift her. Instead, Anneliese wrapped her arms tightly around his right leg.


    He froze but began to help her up. Noticing her hands trembling as she tugged up the hem of his suit pants, he paused, realizing her intent.


    She pulled his pant leg higher, removed his sock, and stared intently at his ankle.


    There, on the outer side, a faint crescent-shaped scar appeared.


    Time had softened it, and he had grown since then. The mark was delicate, easily overlooked by anyone not paying close attention.


    But Anneliese recognized it instantly. She had left that mark.


    During the fire, when she had


    screamed in panic and tried to break through the crowd to find her dad the boy who had been rescued grabbed her to protect her. She had clung to his leg and bitten him, leaving that scar behind.