The Wedding That Never Was Chapter 22

The violent pounding in his chest told Adrian he was still alive. But Ilara's eyes made him feel like he was already dead.

Ilara took the opportunity to pull her hand free. Adrian didn't force her to stay.

He smiled like a terminally ill heart patient. The blood drained from his lips. "In short, whatever you want, I will give you."

"Just give me a month..."

"Why should she give you time?" A voice rang out from not far away.

Leo Vance walked over leisurely.

I looked back and saw the laughter in his eyes. I breathed a sigh of relief and nodded at him.

Adrian’s thugs or bodyguards didn't stop him. Under their boss's gloomy gaze, they lowered their heads.

"Colonel Hayes... oh no, Mr. Hayes. I told you yesterday not to harass other people's girlfriends. Didn't you learn your lesson?"

Leo’s hair was a bit longer today, tied back in a wolf tail. He wore simple casual clothes. Once he put away his hostility toward Adrian, he looked instantly youthful.

I felt an inexplicable sense of security. Even hearing Leo call me his girlfriend didn't make me angry.

I tugged on Leo's sleeve and shook my head slightly. "Don't fight with him."

Leo obediently held my hand.

Adrian watched this scene with cold eyes, countless dark shadows breeding in his heart. "Since when is she your girlfriend?"

Leo just shook their clasped hands, provoking him. "None of your business."

The smell of gunpowder between the two was thick.

I sensed trouble. If this continued, they would definitely fight. I dragged Leo, intending to leave.

Unexpectedly, Adrian suddenly rushed forward. His fist, veins bulging, slammed into Leo's face.

Leo wasn't one to show weakness. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand and punched Adrian in the stomach.

I knew I couldn't stop them at this point. I stepped aside to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

I watched them with worry, but my gaze only seemed to make them fight harder.

Both men had extensive military experience. They had sparred countless times before.

But that was training. This was a fight to the death.

I knew the outcome clearly.

I didn't know Adrian's current condition, but I knew Leo's.

He had retired to study abroad. For two years, all his free time outside of school was spent accompanying me in the hospital.

Even though he worked out occasionally, his combat fitness was far from what it used to be.

Sure enough, after a fierce battle, Leo lost.

Adrian wasn't in great shape either. His lip was split, and his body under the suit was covered in bruises.

But he forced himself to stand straight, looking down at Leo with contempt.

It was the look of a victor.

But when he looked up to find me, that look vanished.

Because I was helping Leo up. I was anxiously asking if he was okay, my palms checking for injuries on his body.

Adrian watched as Leo smiled, pressed my hand down, and whispered something. I paused, covered my mouth, and shed tears.

Then, without a word, I helped Leo up.

Adrian watched in a trance. He had seen this scene before.

Back when we were in school, I often came to class with bruises because of my family.

Sixteen or seventeen is the age of curiosity. The beautiful school queen hiding scars under her uniform naturally sparked discussion.

Many guesses were nasty. So Adrian, who only cared about studying back then, went and beat them up one by one.

He wasn't a natural fighter. He won by taking as much damage as he dealt.

When I found out, I cried while bandaging him, just like this.

Adrian’s eyes were filled with confusion.

He didn't understand where that version of himself—the one who would fight anyone who made Ilara cry—had gone.

Why had he been reduced from the protagonist to a bystander?

He watched as I helped Leo away. He watched my hand carefully draping a coat over Leo, mindful not to touch his wounds.

Clutching his arm where an old injury had flared up, Adrian thought: I clearly won.

Why does the loser look more like the winner than I do?