Heartstrings on Fire (Agnes and Jared)

Chapter 973

Agnes opened the door easily.

The house was bathed in light, warm and inviting.

Ascending the staircase, she barely made any sounds.

The second floor was still, silent, as if holding its breath. Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Agnes had no clue where Jared could be.

A small voice inside her head suggested she shouldn't have come back.

But she had promised him, sworn to Jared that she wouldn't just vanish into thin air again.

She clung to that flimsy excuse, refusing to admit she just wanted to see him one last time.

Standing at the threshold of the bedroom, Agnes hesitated.

Her heart was pounding with an intensity that surprised her. She was nervous, because of him.

She hadn't thought through her goodbye, didn't know what to say, couldn't even begin to imagine how he'd react to her departure.

The hesitation gnawed at her once more. But eventually, Agnes knocked lightly on the door.

There was no response.

Doubt crept into her heart. Could it be that Jared wasn't home?

But the house was lit like a beacon, and she had seen his car parked outside.

Taking matters into her own hands, Agnes turned the handle and entered.

The villa was vast, with over twenty rooms, each one glowing with life except for Jared's room, which lay shrouded in darkness.

Yet in the shadows, by the floor-to-ceiling windows, stood a figure, tall and forlorn.

He was enshrouded in a cloak of grayscale emotions, lost in a world of his own, oblivious to the soft knocking that had just occurred.

But the sound of the door creaking open finally stirred him.

Jared turned, and upon seeing Agnes, he blinked, as if she were an apparition caught between light and dark, barely real.

He stood frozen, fearing that any movement might shatter the fragile vision before him.

Agnes lingered at the door before stepping inside, not bothering with the lights.

Her bare feet made no sound on the floor, and all she could hear was the rhythm of her own heartbeat.

The room was filled with the scent of tobacco.

It was then she noticed Jared, standing alone, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

The smoke seemed to wrap around him, but his crisp features gradually came into focus.

Agnes approached him, and his expression was one of disbelief, as if he couldn't trust the sight before his eyes.

With each step she took, the pain in his gaze deepened.

Reaching him, Agnes gently plucked the cigarette from his fingers.

She didn't dispose of it, instead, she took a drag herself.

It was her first time smoking; the bitter taste spread through her mouth, as if it intended to burrow into her mind.

One puff was enough; she didn't care for another.

Extinguishing the cigarette, she tossed it into a nearby trash can.

Breaking the silence, she suddenly spoke, “I don't get it. This stuff is so bitter. Why do you guys get hooked on it?”