Vivian Sinclair’s flight was caught in a violent thunderstorm.

  Outside the window, flashes of light cut through the swirling clouds—almost apocalyptic. The plane circled over Han City for nearly an hour, bouncing in the turbulence, unable to land.

  It was an hour straight out of hell. Passengers were panicking, some gasping for air, while a young man suddenly collapsed with a heart attack. Most of them were drenched in sweat, their clothes sticking to their skin.

  Vivian sat next to a young man, his hands trembling as he typed out a message. It was the kind of message you send when you know the end is near—one that could be sent once they land, the kind of message that felt like a will. She glanced at the screen—it wasn’t addressed to his parents, but to his lover.

  Tears dropped onto the screen. The young man frantically wiped them away. Suddenly, the plane jerked again, and his phone slipped from his hand, landing at Vivian’s feet.

  Vivian bent down to pick it up, feeling the warmth of the sweat and tears still lingering on the screen.

  She wasn’t sure she could empathize with the young man’s tears.

  He didn’t notice her; he simply muttered a quick thank you and went back to typing. Vivian, with little else to do, leaned closer to read the message. It was filled with declarations of love, promises to take care of his family, and even a final wish: "After I'm gone, find someone who loves you more than I do."

  Vivian raised her eyebrows. "Well, that’s a devoted kid."

  The young man didn’t respond. He finished typing, slumping back into his seat, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.

  The plane failed to land again, returning to the storm clouds. The turbulence eased slightly. The young man, now a little calmer, turned toward Vivian. She had her eyes closed, trying to relax.

  "You've got quite the calm mindset," he said, his voice dry.

  "It’s not about being calm," Vivian replied. "It’s about waiting to die, not hoping to survive."

  Survival meant panic, crying for help, praying—just like most of the people around them. Waiting to die, though, was simple. Close your eyes, lean back, and wait for time to do its work.

  "You…" The young man looked her over. "Aren’t you scared?"

  "Scared? The moment the plane crashes, we’re all going to be shattered into pieces. It’ll hurt, and it’s the worst way to die," Vivian said nonchalantly.

  Her casual tone seemed to shock the passengers around them. They cursed at her for tempting fate, but she merely shrugged, unconcerned.

  The young man pressed further. "Aren’t you going to write something?"

  "What’s there to write? I’m 30 and still single," Vivian replied.

  "Write something for your family, not just a lover," he suggested, pausing. "You probably have things to say to them, too."

  "Family?" Vivian seemed to think it over for a moment.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Forget it. Honestly, it’d be better to just die."

  What kind of family would make a 30-year-old woman say that writing a will for them is not worth it?

  Finally, the plane broke through the dark clouds.

  As the plane ascended above the thick mist, the wings brushed against the snowy white clouds, as delicate as a ceremonial scarf. Suddenly, everything was calm again.

  The passengers who survived were overwhelmed with relief, crying tears of joy. Some hugged their family and friends, while others frantically grabbed their phones to contact loved ones. The young man next to Vivian was one of them, but she simply propped her chin up, her eyes fixed on the gloomy green of the airport below.

  She thought about the two people she would face soon. She wished the pilot would turn the plane back around.

  When the plane finally landed safely, Vivian walked through the terminal, following the crowd. The place was filled with survivors crying tears of joy.

  It was noisy, and Vivian rubbed her ears in frustration.

  Suddenly, she was enveloped in a tight hug.

  "Sis! Sis!" A man clung to her shoulder. "Thank god you’re alright! I was so scared! Do you know how terrified I was? I thought you might not make it... Without you, I wouldn’t know how to live!"

  Vivian, buried in his coat, could hardly breathe. Noah Blackwood was sobbing, his chest shaking, his heart pounding. Vivian felt like her ears were going numb, and she found his melodrama grating. But she endured it, letting him cry in her arms for a few moments.

  "Alright, enough with the tears, Noah. You’re over 20, act like a man," she snapped.

  She pushed him away but didn’t see anyone behind him. "Is it just you? Where’s Ethan Blackwood?"

  Noah, his eyes red from crying, nodded in the direction of a figure in the distance.

  Ethan Blackwood stood not far off, dressed sharply in a well-fitted suit. His hair was slicked back, and he looked out of place amidst the crowd, like a black pillar in a sea of people.

  Vivian, the older sister who had nearly perished, watched others weep, while some stood coldly by. Ethan’s piercing dark eyes narrowed as he looked at her, a forced smile tugging at his lips.

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  Vivian’s mind wandered back to the past, and her expression grew colder.

  "Just got out of the office?" she asked, eyeing his immaculate suit.

  "Just finished some business," Ethan replied, succinctly. "Where’s your luggage?"

  "I shipped it back. The baggage fees were fucking outrageous," Vivian shot back casually.

  Her swearing was nothing new. Ethan’s family knew she was blunt and unrefined.

  Ethan furrowed his brow. It had been a long time since he’d heard that kind of coarse language. "Can you show a little more decorum in public?"

  "Decorum?" Vivian gave him a sharp look. "You don’t see the chaos in here? You really think I’m the worst one? You think just because you’re the boss now, you can tell me what to do? You’re not the one giving me orders, Ethan Blackwood."

  Ethan’s sharp features darkened, his eyes cold. "Vivian Sinclair."

  "Did you just call me Vivian Sinclair?" she retorted, amused by his formality.

  "Alright, stop," Noah interjected, sensing another confrontation between the two. "Sis, you’ve just survived a disaster. It's understandable you’re not in the best mood."

  "Not true!" Vivian snapped. "I was fine on the plane, thinking I’d rather just die, so I wouldn’t have to deal with you two anymore. It’s seeing you both now that’s ruining my mood!"

  Noah, ever the peacekeeper, added, "Sis, let’s just get in the car, okay? Big bro arranged dinner at your favorite place. He even had the chef save a fresh fish for you."

  Vivian’s mood lightened a little. Noah at least knew how to make her feel better. She glanced at Ethan but avoided looking at him too long, walking toward the exit.

  ———————————————————————

  The car was still warm from the heater, and Vivian sat in the front passenger seat, a position she preferred. She had been a driver and even a driving instructor, so sitting in the back felt uncomfortable. She thought Noah was driving, but to her surprise, it was Ethan behind the wheel. She immediately reached for the door.

  "Why?" Ethan asked, steering the car in reverse.

  "I want to sit in the back," Vivian replied bluntly. "Sitting so close to you makes me sick."

  Ethan shrugged. "Suit yourself. If it's that nauseating, then don't bother eating."

  "I never asked you to feed me," Vivian snapped, "Stop the car!"

  Noah, watching them from the back, was about to lose his mind. In just a moment, these two were already at each other's throats again. He thought to himself that maybe they should be sent to Syria to resolve their issues. With these two explosive personalities in one car, who knew if the Third World War would start between them. It was just too much.

  "Hey, bro, can you just keep quiet for a bit? Sis barely comes home." He turned to Vivian. "Sis, he's just like that. He was also..."

  Ethan shot him a cold glare.

  Noah fell silent.

  It was rare for Vivian to be home, and she didn’t want to make the atmosphere even more awkward. She closed her eyes, deciding to stay quiet.

  The car came to a stop after a while, and Vivian slowly woke up, thinking they had arrived at the restaurant. Instead, Ethan said he needed to buy cigarettes.

  "I’ll buy you my ass, buy!" Vivian was furious. "When did you get such a bad habit?"

  Ethan wasn’t fazed. He glanced at her. "Work requires it. Socializing requires it. Do you think I can refuse when they offer me one?"

  "You used to scold me for smoking!" Vivian mocked, imitating his tone. "You’ll end up smoking yourself to death. Next thing, you'll have tubes sticking out of your lungs."

  "What, you’re not smoking?" Ethan responded smoothly, throwing a punch back at her. "Back when we lived in the old house, you let Noah and me inhale secondhand smoke every day. Don’t tell me you’ve quit now. Didn’t you quit a few times each year?"

  "Fuck you…" Vivian shot him an angry glare.

  Noah, ever the peacekeeper, intervened. "Alright, alright. Smoking is a business necessity. Don’t argue. I’ll go buy them."

  "You’re just enabling him!" Vivian muttered as Noah opened the car door.

  The door slammed shut, and suddenly, Vivian fell silent.

  Being alone with Ethan was uncomfortable. It wasn’t because she was scared—no, it was something else.

  Ethan had developed an absurd and disgusting illness.

  Vivian’s expression remained neutral, but she could feel Ethan’s attitude had not improved either.

  The day was ending, and the sky was getting darker. The rain from earlier seemed to promise more to come.

  Vivian instinctively asked, "Did you grab the laundry from the line?"

  Ethan replied nonchalantly, "There’s a drying room at home. Plus, we have a maid to help out."

  Vivian couldn’t help but tease him, "You really live the good life now. You’ve always been a spoiled brat, but now you’re the real deal. You’ve got someone to wash and hang your clothes for you. Don’t tell me, when you pee, you have someone hold your hand too?"

  "...Do I leave millions in business deals behind just to go home and fetch clothes? The whole company is waiting for me to make money, not to pick up laundry," Ethan said, his tone sharp.

  Vivian suddenly felt a subtle unease. Ethan’s words, so full of sharpness and control, left her feeling momentarily powerless.

  She shifted tactics, pressing him on his career. "So what if you’ve climbed the career ladder? You’re pushing thirty, not some kid like Noah. You haven’t even settled down yet! If you’re not ashamed of that, I certainly am. And once you hit your thirties, good luck finding a partner—people will think there’s something wrong with you. Didn’t I tell you to try dating? Take Miss Caldwell, that business partner I mentioned—why not ask her out..."

  Ethan interrupted, impatient. "She’s married."

  Vivian let out a laugh, clapping her hands. "I told you, didn’t I? If you didn’t make the effort, someone else would take the opportunity. Miss Caldwell is beautiful, educated, and charming. No wonder she didn’t want you."

  She pretended not to know, though deep down, she understood all too well.

  Ethan’s eyes darkened with resentment, his gaze colder than ever.

  "Yeah, sure," he sneered. "Better than someone who thinks she has cleaned up her mess, only to end up with a bigger one."

  Vivian froze, caught off guard by his words. Her anger flared, and she spoke through gritted teeth, "Who are you to talk about being clean? If you're so righteous, why do you keep avoiding me?"

  "Is it me avoiding you, or are you trying to push me away?" Ethan’s voice was low and cutting.

  Vivian’s heart thudded, her anger turning to confusion. "Why would I push you away? Don’t you know?"

  She exhaled sharply, the air thick and suffocating, like a furnace.

  Ethan’s eyes burned, lighting a fire inside her that only fueled her rage.

  She ground her teeth together. "Don’t tell me, your... whatever it is, that illness of yours still hasn’t been cured."

  "Illness?" Ethan met her gaze head-on. "Yeah, it’s still here."

  “I … fuck， ” Vivian was so angry, she slammed her fist against the car window. "I think you ruined your brain while studying abroad! Do you know how messed up your thinking is? It’s disgusting! It’s absurd! How do you think Noah sees you? What do you think everyone else will say about you?"

  Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice dark with emotion. "… Disgusting?"

  "Don’t you think it’s disgusting? Do you want me to remind you what you did in high school? Want me to talk about how you touched my underwear? I was so naive, thinking it was just you hitting puberty late. Turns out, you were mentally disturbed way before!"

  But despite her insults, Ethan remained strangely calm.

  "Vivian, you know everything."

  “All I know is that you're sick in the head.” Vivian paused, then snapped, "I should have just let you..."

  "Die?" Ethan effortlessly finished her sentence.

  For years, she had used this phrase to hurt him.

  "Do you know," he said, his tone cold and calculated, "when I heard about the accident, for a few seconds, I actually wished you had died. If you had died, I would have been free… why couldn’t you just die on that plane?"

  Vivian stared at him, disbelief flooding her.

  She fell silent, her gaze moving to his wrist.

  The familiar red marks from his wrists—the only secret that they shared.

  "...Ethan," she murmured, her voice still cold, but this time, it held a touch of something more peaceful. "If you wanted me dead, why are you crying?"