My Future Self Begged Me to Walk Away Chapter 08

Free from the shackles of my job, I chose South City, a town with a slow rhythm that I had always longed to visit.

The plane touched down right at twilight. The air was heavy with a crisp, damp moisture, entirely different from the briny, salt-crusted ocean breeze of Port City. Outside the terminal, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of the apartment I had rented in advance. It was located in the historic district, overlooking the river; the building wasn’t tall, but it featured a massive, sprawling balcony.

When I pushed the windows open, the river flowed slowly through the gathering dusk, reflecting the scattered, twinkling lights of the town in the distance. I took a deep, clear breath.

The phantom floated quietly out onto the balcony. Gazing down at the water for a long, peaceful moment, she softly uttered a single phrase. “It’s beautiful.”

The days that followed were simple to the point of monotony. I didn’t bother looking for work. During the day, I would lounge on the balcony, getting lost in a book or just staring out at the view. In the evenings, I sometimes strolled along the riverbank, and other times I visited the small local grocery store down the street to pick up fresh produce, returning home to cook myself a simple, light bowl of noodles. On weekends, I enrolled in a pottery class I had wanted to try for years. The physical sensation of the clay spinning and taking shape beneath my fingertips possessed a magical, grounding energy that quieted my mind.

The woman often sat right on the workbench next to mine, watching me clumsily center the clay on the wheel, a faint, genuine smile gracing her lips.

Time flowed smoothly like water. I reached a point where I had almost completely forgotten about Ulysses Vanderbilt, forgetting how I had once loved a man so desperately and submissively.

That was until two weeks later, on a Saturday afternoon.

I had just walked out of the pottery studio, my hands still dusted with traces of clay that I hadn’t managed to wash off entirely. Clutching a freshly fired,

slightly lopsided ceramic mug in my arms, I was mentally debating whether to cook dumplings or wontons for dinner.

As I rounded the street corner, a sleek black Bentley was parked directly outside the neighborhood grocery store I frequented, looking completely out of place against its weathered surroundings. The door swung open, and Ulysses stepped out.

He had lost a significant amount of weight. Heavy, dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, stubble lined his jaw, and his expensive, custom-tailored dress shirt was severely wrinkled. Standing against the backdrop of South City’s faded, historic streets, he looked like a wealthy heir who had been aggressively photoshopped into the wrong picture.

My footsteps faltered. In that exact fraction of a second, my heart still instinctively tightened. But it lasted for only a single beat.

The woman materialized directly in front of me, spreading her arms wide. Even though she was nothing more than a transparent shadow, she instinctively struck a fiercely protective stance. Her voice trembled with panic. “How… how did he manage to find us here…?”

I kept silent. Tightening my grip around the ceramic mug in my arms, I walked straight ahead, attempting to bypass him entirely.

“Claire,” he called out, his voice incredibly raspy.

I didn’t stop.

“Claire Sterling!” he shouted again, taking a sharp stride forward to block my path.

I was forced to halt. Looking up into his face, my gaze was completely flat and devoid of emotion. “Is there something you need, Mr. Vanderbilt?”

The formal title caused the remaining color to drain from his face. He stared down at me, his eyes heavily bloodshot, his gaze locking onto my face with an intense desperation, as if he were confirming the existence of a priceless, long-lost treasure.

“I’ve been looking for you for two straight weeks,” he whispered. “I used every connection and resource at my disposal just to track you down to this city.”