I willingly allowed myself to be knocked out and taken away.
When I opened my eyes again, William Reid was sitting at the head of my bed.
Seeing me wake up, surprise flashed in his eyes:
“Amber, you’re awake!”
I didn’t speak, just looked at him, feeling as if I had never known him at all.
He noticed my low mood, bowed his head, and gently said:
“I’m sorry for what happened before. It was my fault.”
With that, he pulled out the gun he had given me earlier and handed it over.
“Here, it’s yours.”
I didn’t take it.
What’s the point of having a gun if I no longer wanted him?
Seeing me unresponsive, he shoved the gun into my hand.
“Amber, if you truly hate me, just shoot me! As long as you can forgive me, I’ll do anything!”
I smiled, genuinely finding William Reid amusing.
When I was by his side, I poured out everything, yet he still chose Erin Sutton, holding suspicions about me.
Now that I no longer wanted him, he came rushing back.
What about all the grievances I had suffered before?
What did that amount to?
I shook my head and said slowly:
“I won’t shoot you; it’s pointless. I have no regrets about being with you all these years.”
“Now that we’ve separated, let’s part on good terms. You said it yourself: we were never really together.”
As my words fell, William Reid’s face slowly paled.
After a long pause, he suddenly snatched the gun and pressed it against his shoulder.
He looked at me resolutely, and with a bang, he pulled the trigger.
I was momentarily stunned. William Reid clenched his teeth in pain, blood pouring from his wound. He asked in agony:
“What about now?”
“I once wronged you; can I now exchange that for your forgiveness?”
If this had happened when Erin Sutton first appeared, I would have chosen to forgive him without hesitation.
After all, I once loved him so much, valuing him above my own life.
But at this moment, I slowly began to unbutton my shirt.
William Reid’s eyes darkened, and his pupils quivered slightly, his face turning even paler.
Because my body was covered in scars-some from knives, others from gunshots.
Each scar represented a brush with death.
I spoke expressionlessly:
“Do you see? Most of these injuries were to save you.”
“So what can your gunshot trade for?”
“William Reid, spare me your pity. I’ve suffered far more than you.”