Chapter 5
743words
The sunshine in Zurich was warm, with the aroma of coffee floating in the air. I sat on the second floor of the Art Gallery, watching the Limmat River outside the window.
It was quiet here. No one recognized the former Evelyn Lowell.
Now, I am Evelyn Windsor, an independent jewelry designer.
My "Rebirth" series was selling well. Those jewelry pieces made of shattered crystals and coiled silver wires, carrying a quality like flowers blooming amidst ruins, were quite popular. Today, the Art Gallery hosted a small private exhibition for me.
"Ms. Evelyn."
The gallery owner led a man over. "Allow me to introduce Mr. Oliver Lance, an admirer of the 'Rebirth' series."
I looked up.
The man was in his early thirties, wearing a dark blue suit without a tie. He had gentle blue-green eyes that looked at me with pure appreciation.
"Mr. Lance." I stood up, nodding in acknowledgment.
"Please call me Oliver." He extended his hand with a warm smile that wasn't off-putting. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Windsor. Your work is amazing, that sense of seeking breakthrough within constraints is very moving."
His handshake was dry and steady, brief but firm.
"You're too kind," I responded coolly.
"I mean it," Oliver smiled. "May I have the honor of inviting you to dinner? We could talk about art, or... which restaurant in Zurich is more authentic."
His invitation was direct yet graceful.
Oliver Lance, a member of a Swiss banking family, had devoted himself to art and earned a good reputation.
He was safe, completely different from my past.
I was almost about to nod.
Just then, my peripheral vision caught something through the floor-to-ceiling window facing the street.
My body suddenly froze.
My blood seemed to congeal as an icy chill ran through my entire body.
Outside the window, across the street.
A tall figure stood in the shadow of trees, staring at me without blinking.
Vincent.
He had lost a lot of weight, his black coat hanging loosely on his frame. His chin was covered with dark stubble, his hair disheveled, carrying an air of dejection.
Most striking were his eyes.
Those gray eyes were bloodshot, churning with a desperate, frantic light, like a drowning man clinging to his last piece of driftwood.
He stood there, utterly out of place in Zurich's leisurely afternoon atmosphere.
How could he be here?
He had found me.
I had cut off all contact, vanishing without a trace. I thought I had been careful enough.
But he came anyway.
Like a wolf refusing to give up its prey.
Oliver noticed my unease and followed my gaze. He frowned slightly, clearly sensing that oppressive presence as well.
"Evelyn? Do you know that person?" he asked in a low voice.
I didn't answer.
My heart pounded heavily in my chest, not from excitement, but from the cold weariness of a nightmare repeating itself.
Vincent outside the window, seeing that I finally noticed him, walked out from the shadows of the trees.
The sunlight outlined his haggard silhouette. That once handsome and arrogant face now only showed the weathered remains of someone ground down by pain.
Through the glass, his lips moved silently.
I could understand.
He was saying: "Eve."
Then, he raised his hand, pointing to the Art Gallery exit, and then to himself. A pleading gesture.
He wanted me to go outside.
Oliver stepped forward slightly, subtly positioning himself in front of me, forming a protective stance.
"Do you need me to call security?" His voice was gentle, yet firm.
I looked at Oliver's reliable back, and then glanced at the withered man outside the window.
One year ago, the Evelyn who collapsed outside the greenhouse was already dead.
Now standing here was me, who had crawled out from the ashes.
I took a deep breath and drained the cold red tea in my cup in one gulp.
"That won't be necessary, Oliver." I put down my teacup and gave him a cold smile. "Just some dust from the past. I can handle it myself."
I picked up my handbag and, without looking at Vincent outside the window, walked straight to the exit.
My high heels tapped on the wooden floor, making steady and clear "click, click" sounds.
I knew that beyond the door was Vincent's "Crematorium."
So let this fire burn even more fiercely.
Fierce enough to burn everything from the past, along with his belated repentance, into ashes.
