Chapter 107

Matilda was caught in the tendrils of a dream that seemed to stretch on endlessly.

In this dream, she was the beloved daughter of the prestigious Thompson family, her grace and elegance unmatched. Gideon, her older brother, was the very definition of dashing, with a

charm that attracted the city’s elite like moths to a flame.

It was Gideon’s birthday, and in the dream, Matilda was 25, Gideon 27. The siblings stood side by side, epitomizing closeness. Their parents were the picture of health and happiness; the family of four was a paradigm of domestic bliss.

In the dream, Matilda’s laughter rang out so heartily it was as if she was using up a lifetime’s worth of joy.

When she awoke, she found herself in an unfamiliar hospital bed, still Matilda, but every ounce. of warmth and affection dissipated the moment her eyes opened.

The final frame of her dream lingered on Gideon’s face before it began to crack down the middle, splintering like a shattered glass pane, bit by bit. The familiar smile and voice of her brother were carved apart by those fractures, crumbling into nothingness.

Matilda looked around in panic. She was in a private hospital room, jolting awake as if from at nightmare, her complexion ghostly pale.

Silence enveloped her, so profound it seemed to swallow even the echo of her own breath.

eerie quietude gave her an overwhelming sense of solitude, as if she

IV needle in her arm dislodged by the movement, swelling into a small bump on the back of her hand. Yet she

Gideon…

but no tears came. She gasped for air, feeling as though

searing pain, as if being torn apart.

flooding the room with light. “What are you doing? Have

wound was small, and the bleeding soon. stopped. With no desire to clean

had that captivating allure, but now his eyes swirled with a

Yvan’s voice trembled.

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Chapter

energy, she pushed Yvan away and bolted down the hallway, running as if

to flow past her as she desperately raced backward, toward a place where Gideon

reached–the

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