Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains by the floor-to-ceiling window, scattering broken silver across the room.

Tara Weston was barely holding herself up against the glass. The man had taken her again and again until, at last, everything went still.

The air in the bedroom was still thick with that intimate, messy heat.

Adrian Calloway lit a cigarette. Through the drifting smoke, he looked over the woman collapsed on the bed, her hair and clothes in disarray, and said out of nowhere, "Tara, you’re not that young anymore. White stockings are too innocent for you. They don’t suit you."

Tara froze.

A second later, she slowly sat up. The torn white stocking, ruined beyond saving, was still hanging around her ankle. She bent one knee, pulled it off, and said with a blank face, "Okay. I’ll switch things up next time."

A few days ago, she had accidentally seen that kind of stocking in his phone’s browsing history. She had thought he might be into it. Thought she could surprise him.

Not young.

Not innocent.

Just a few casual words, and all her wishful thinking got smashed to pieces on the spot.

"There won’t be a next time." Adrian tipped his head back and exhaled a thin stream of smoke, his tone flat, almost lazy. "You don’t need to come here anymore. Joanna is simple. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea."

Tara suddenly looked up. Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but the words got stuck hard in her throat.

Joanna Reeves.

The girl Adrian had been seeing a lot lately.

Tara had seen her picture before. Young. Pretty. Bright in that effortless kind of way.

When Tara said nothing, Adrian’s voice turned colder, heavier, like a warning. "Tara, don’t forget what we agreed on in the beginning."

"I haven’t forgotten." Tara lowered her eyes and quietly straightened her clothes. The room between them had gone cold in an instant, as if the heat and tenderness from just moments ago had never existed at all. Only the faint tremble in her voice gave away the emotion she was forcing down. "I’ll move out tonight."

Back then, when Adrian agreed to be with her, the terms had been crystal clear.

No going public.

No responsibility.

Show up whenever he called.

Leave when he got bored.

She got to her feet and began tidying herself in silence. Her expression barely changed, calm to the point of almost looking numb.

"It’s too late today. Move tomorrow." Adrian, to his credit, seemed willing to leave her a little dignity. He tossed a key over. "Take this villa and stay there. The location’s good. You’ve got no family in Jingshi anyway. If you need anything, tell me, hm?"

She was an orphan.

Not just in Jingshi.

Anywhere.

She had once thought Adrian Calloway would become her home.

Obviously, she had been kidding herself.

By then Tara had already gotten dressed. The fingers pinching her buttons had gone pale from how hard she was holding on. "No need. I already bought a place in Jingshi. The renovations were just finished recently."

She glanced at the key, then tugged faintly at the corner of her lips, though there wasn’t any real smile in it.

"Besides," she said softly, "it’s only one-thirty in the morning. That’s not exactly late."

It wasn’t even the first time Adrian Calloway had kicked her out in the middle of the night just because he was in a bad mood. That kind of thing had happened plenty over the past two years.

Adrian lifted a brow, looking like this actually saved him trouble. "Fine. You were with me for two years, after all. If we run into each other later, we can still be friends."

"That’s probably not a good idea."

Tara Weston raised her eyes and looked straight at him. "If Miss Reeves finds out, she’ll get the wrong idea, won’t she?"

Adrian froze for a second. He had always liked that she knew the drill—sensible, obedient, never crossing the line. But today, for some reason, a strange irritation flared up in his chest, out of nowhere, low-key impossible to ignore.

"Whatever." He couldn’t be bothered to say more. He turned and went straight to the study.

Tara packed up the few things she actually had and left the villa. She used to think this place was the little nest she and Adrian shared, something warm and private, something that meant she belonged. Only now did she finally get it—this place had never really been hers.

It was two in the morning, and the wind outside was brutally cold. Tara dragged her suitcase down the road, the streetlights pressing over her thin frame, stretching her lonely shadow longer and longer across the ground.

Then a sudden chill touched her forehead.

When Tara looked up again, she realized it had started snowing at some point.