Chapter 221: She Doesn't Love Me Anymore
The rain pummeled the car window incessantly, each drop merging into a blur of shimmering confusion. Through the misty glass, the outside world seemed an odd, fantastical realm.
I chuckled softly, "So, when's this expert of yours arriving in Maple Valley?"
Christopher replied, "The day after tomorrow."
"Alright." I nodded, placing my right hand on the door handle, "I'll be off then."
"I'll walk you to your car," he offered.
I shook my head. "No need. It's just parked nearby."
Ignoring my protest, Christopher insisted, "I'll walk you out anyway."
For a moment, I was surprised, but as he reached over to grab the umbrella from the passenger seat, I understood it was because of the rain.
With an imposing black long-handled umbrella, he stepped out, circled the car in the downpour, and opened my door. "Come on, let's go."
Rain puddles gathered on either side of the road, our footsteps resonating through the quiet street. We walked in unison to my car. Sliding into the driver's seat, I noticed the rain-soaked half of his body.
Yet all I said was, "Thanks."
With that, I shut the door with a firm click, started the engine, and without hesitation, stepped on the gas.
In the rearview mirror, Christopher stood resolutely, the umbrella shielding him as much from the rain as from his own emotions, his eyes fixed on my retreating car.
I didn't slow down. Perhaps it was indicative of my conflicting nature—equal parts passionate and detached. When in love, I craved unforgettable, earth-shattering moments. But when it ended, lingering was pointless; words and glances became superfluous.
As my car faded into the distance, Christopher lingered in the rain, every drop a silent testament to his heartache. He now fully comprehended the anguish Hope endured each time he left her. The tightness in his chest was almost unbearable, and a passing cyclist splattered him with mud. He barely registered it, his gaze filled with lingering sorrow.
"Sure, Moonlight Lounge again?"
"Yeah."
"Alright."
On the other end, Ivan excused himself from a gathering and arranged for a driver to take him to Moonlight Lounge.
He wasn't surprised. Over the past two years, Christopher—once devoid of bad habits—had turned to smoking and drinking in solitude, even when he was juggling medication for his bipolar disorder, battling the tormenting belief that "Hope Royston is dead."
Ivan knew better than to stop him. An earlier comment had earned someone a beating from Christopher.
Without a body, Christopher wouldn't accept that Hope Royston was dead. In the two years, he had prepared flamboyant gifts for every wedding anniversary and Valentine's Day. He faithfully visited Hope's adoptive parents' graves on their death anniversaries. No matter how inebriated he became, he always insisted on returning to Moon Lake Bay, the house he had once shared with Hope.
The media often teased him, labeling him a henpecked husband. But only Ivan understood: Christopher simply couldn't let go.
When Ivan arrived at Moonlight Lounge, the private room's table was already laden with a variety of drinks. Christopher, raising his glass, acknowledged him, "You're here?" before downing his drink in one swift motion.
Ivan settled beside him, shaking his head. "Did you invite me here just so I could take you to the ER for a stomach bleed?"
Christopher smirked and took another drink. "And who took you to the hospital after your breakup with Elissa?"
Ivan sighed, resigned. "Christopher, let's not open old wounds."
Realizing the need to shift the conversation, Ivan asked, "So, what's the deal? Hope didn't want the doctor you found?"
Christopher held his glass, his fingers tapping the rim. "No. I don't know how to say, but something feels off."
In short, it was different this time. Hope seemed indifferent, with no emotions, not even resistance or resentment for him. Only when he mentioned that the doctor could cure Claire did she have emotions on her face. Other than that, it was like she was putting on a facade, maintaining a distance he couldn't bridge.
Ivan casually picked up a glass, poured some liquor, and dropped in an ice cube. "I've told you before, this approach won’t work. What's with all this respect and compliance? Are you trying to win her over with sentiment alone?"
Ivan's tone grew more critical. "In my opinion, love is about the chase. If you two start acting like polite strangers, that's when it's truly over, with no sparks left."
Christopher replied with a bitter sneer, "Easy for you to say. Then why did you and Elissa break up?"
Ivan took a big gulp from his glass. The liquor burned, but he swallowed it without a wince, casting a glance at Christopher. "I’m not like you. I relied on my parents. I needed to compromise to maintain my comfortable life. But you—you're different. Now you’re the one in charge of the family. There should be no obstacles between you and Hope."
Christopher’s blue eyes flickered with mixed emotions.
Yes, the primary obstacle between thhad been his disregard for her feelings before.
Tight-lipped, Christopher confessed, "It's far more complex than between you and Elissa."
Ivan asked, "What is it then?"
Christopher's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes tinged with a hint of red. "She doesn’t love me anymore."
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