KMKS 13

Chapter 13

“What kind of person was I before?”

Aiden’s low voice filled the carriage.

What kind of person he was…?

In his blue eyes, there lingered a hollowness Sara could not fully understand.

It reminded her of the moment Olga had introduced her to him as his wife. That first time they met after the accident that had stolen his memory.

Meanwhile, Sara’s pupils trembled violently. His question had pierced straight to the essence of things.

Her hands turned cold at the suddenness of it. She tried to stay calm, running her palms over her skirt, but it wasn’t enough.

Why was he asking such a question? What meaning did it hold? Sara’s thoughts tangled into knots.

“Please, tell me honestly.”

Was he really asking because he remembered nothing at all?

All this time, Sara had never quite shaken off the suspicion that lingered in her heart.

Even though the doctor had diagnosed him with amnesia, she wondered sometimes if Aiden was merely toying with her.

But no—his troubled expression looked too deep, too real, to be just a test.

If his memory loss was genuine, then this question must have haunted him since the accident.

From the moment he woke to the moment he slept—perhaps even in his dreams.

When she looked into his empty, hollow eyes, Sara realized there was no falsehood in his words.

He truly wanted to know himself.

“So… you are…”

Sara parted her dry lips.

Her throat wasn’t constricted, yet her voice cracked like brittle wood. No more words would come. A bitter taste lingered at the tip of her tongue.

What did she even know about him?

Now, when she tried to answer, nothing came to mind.

She had shared only two years of his life, and that too merely in name—as a wife in title alone.

Wife only by name, she knew nothing of his childhood, his friends, or the thoughts that drove him to build his business. Nothing at all.

Their married life had been filled with terrible memories, yet perhaps there had been sides of Aiden she had never known.

Even now, he didn’t press her for an answer. He simply waited, as though giving her all the time she needed.

Seeing how much he had changed since losing his memory, Sara was shaken.

The Aiden she knew had never been someone who considered others, never someone who showed kindness.

Perhaps, before she had known him, he had indeed been gentle—thoughtful, even caring toward others.

If so, then perhaps Sara didn’t really know Aiden Spencer at all.

She had to admit it: the violent man she had seen in their two years of marriage was Aiden, but so too was this man before her now, quietly attentive.

“Believe it or not… I don’t really know you. Even though I’m your wife.”

“Were we not on good terms?”

He asked it without surprise, his voice calm, as if he had expected that answer.

“No. I never imagined having a conversation like this with you.”

Their conversations as husband and wife had always been parallel lines—never touching. Yelling, objects scattered across the floor… those always marked the end.

At some point, Sara had stopped speaking to him altogether.

They had no children. Aiden had brought other women into the mansion, carrying on affairs.

His business had faltered after their marriage.

And in every case, the blame had fallen squarely on Sara.

Since every arrow was aimed at her, silence became her last defense.

Now, fidgeting with her fingers, she let the story end there.

There was no need to go further. Aiden wouldn’t remember any of it anyway.

If he tried, the effort would only bring on the splitting headaches that seemed to come with memory loss.

“…”

Aiden too seemed lost in thought. Outside the window, countless scenes flashed past.

Perhaps it was an excuse, but Sara felt he ought to know, at least, that their relationship had not been good.

Before long, the carriage passed a sign marked Harrington 17th Street and entered a bustling alley filled with food stalls.

Unlike elegant indoor restaurants, this was a place where one could eat casually, under the open sky.

Tables were set up between the narrow streets, and several people were already enjoying their lunch.

Had it not been for Aiden’s voice echoing in her memory, Sara might have stepped forward willingly.

“Eating in a place like this? Vulgar. Do you think the likes of me, Viscount Spencer, should touch such food?”

“People like me ought to dine on delicacies, don’t you agree?”

It was this very alley he had once scorned, saying the mingled smells were unhygienic, impossible to stomach.

Even though no one had suggested eating here back then, he had waved his hand in disgust.

As she was remembering all this, she stared at Aiden’s back ahead of her. Then, suddenly, he turned—and their eyes met.

Had her feelings shown on her face? Despite the confusing conversation they’d had in the carriage, Aiden looked instead at the shadow clouding her expression.

“My apologies. Do you dislike this kind of food?”

He scratched his head, as though regretting not asking sooner.

He even looked ready to change their plans if necessary.

Sara felt a rush of gratitude.

Perhaps that was why she spoke with unexpected firmness, to ease his concern.

“I like this kind of food.”

Though she had never been able to say so before.

A faint smile flitted across her lips.

Aiden, of course, could not remember that the man he once was had despised such street fare.

Catching that brief smile, Aiden’s steps lightened, and he came closer to her.

“Then, would you wait here just a moment?”

“…Will it take long?”

“It won’t. Just a little while.”

She wanted to ask where he was going, but there was no time—and seeing his faint smile, her heart softened.

She could wait, if only for a while.

When she nodded, Aiden dashed off into the alley thick with food smells.

Sara didn’t know where his steps were taking him.

Left alone at the alley’s entrance, she watched the passersby.

The Spencer estate lay on the city’s outskirts, where one didn’t often see so many people.

The world seen only through its windows had been even smaller.

Here, on the streets, families laughed together, groups of friends chatted merrily, and young couples flushed red with newfound love.

A boy with a cap pulled low handed out newspapers in exchange for coins, wiped his brow with his sleeve, pocketed the money, and pedaled off on his bicycle toward his next customer.

Amid all this, Sara felt a fleeting sense of freedom.

Her hands warmed, the tightness in her chest easing little by little.

Normally, at this hour, she would have been staring out the window without even a proper meal. Or perhaps heading to the laundry room.

The sun had climbed high, and more people were pouring into the alley for lunch.

Sara huddled slightly by the entrance, waiting for Aiden.

It’s just a moment.

She glanced around, wondering when he would return, then stopped herself.

Thinking back, Aiden had shown her kindness many times.

And though she had always promised herself she would repay it, she never truly had.

Even when she felt grateful, a sliver of doubt always kept her from opening her heart fully.

So she stood there, lost in thought—until someone suddenly bumped into her.

“See you next time! Haha!”
“Leave it to me, sir!”

The man was hurrying along, and they collided.

Sara instinctively stretched out her hand.

If she fell, her ankle—only recently healed—would surely be badly injured again.

Her grasp caught something solid. Clinging to it, she barely managed to keep her balance.

Her ankle was safe. But another problem arose.

What she had caught was none other than a stranger’s forearm.

“…Well now.”

A mocking chuckle escaped the man’s lips.

His gaze dropped immediately to his arm, where Sara’s frail hand remained frozen, unable to move away.

The collision had drawn the eyes of people nearby.

“You should be careful, lady.”

Before her stood a man with a gentle, good-natured face, as if he had never once furrowed his brows in his life.

“Th… thank you.”

Had it not been for him, she surely would have fallen.

Her heart still thumped with the shock.

His hair was pitch-black, without a trace of any other color, and each blink revealed reddish eyes that glimmered lazily.

But soon his expression twisted into a grimace.

Only once the onlookers lost interest and turned away did his face truly darken.

His gaze, fixed on Sara, would not leave her.

When the crowd dispersed, he muttered:

“Just my luck.”

So polite a man—yet he used the very words her husband had once spat at her.

Sara froze from head to toe. Not because of the collision itself—no, this was the same contemptuous stare she had once endured.

A sharp pain spread in her chest. She thought she caught the faint smell of cigars, just as she had in her memories.

“More importantly… aren’t you going to apologize?”

His voice was cold now as he looked down at her with those red, languid eyes.

Then, abruptly, he stepped closer and asked:

“Ah. Or… do you want to do something else with me?”

His gaze roamed over her body, and his strong arm coiled around her waist like a snake.