Chapter 3

I got together with Emma when I was eighteen.

I grew up without parents, and the grandmother who raised me passed away when I was fifteen.

That's when Emma appeared.

She pursued me relentlessly.

Throwing money around, wanting to give me the best of everything.

Emma was beautiful and made me feel secure.

I fell for her quickly.

On my nineteenth birthday, she coaxed me into my first time.

That night.

From sobriety to intoxication.

We became one.

The next day, Emma took me to meet her group of friends.

I had never been in such a setting before, so I quietly followed Emma, mimicking her greetings.

Their gazes as they sized me up were full of mockery.

"Emma, why did you pick up a college boy?"

"He's too naive, he'll hold you back."

At that time, I didn't understand what they meant by "hold you back."

I couldn't help but protest softly, "I won't."

"I won't be a burden to Emma."

Definitely not.

But later, as I gradually became exposed to Emma's world, I realized what kind of life she was living.

It was fraught with danger.

To avoid holding Emma back, to stay by her side, I had to force myself to fit into that environment.

Ten years.

I dyed my hair, started smoking, got tattoos.

I even ended up with countless scars.

Because I was tough enough, I helped Emma climb to the position of second-in-command of the North Side gang.

But Emma didn't seem happy.

Countless nights.

She would curl up in my arms, her fingers tracing over my scars, then leaning in to kiss them.

"James."

She buried her face in my chest, sighing, "I still prefer the you from back then."

And I would always pause, then push her away and light a cigarette.

Laughing bitterly.

"Emma, you're so fucking heartless to say that."