All the way, Kingsley didn't say a word. His long body was half leaning on the leather seat. His eyes were closed as he was pretending to sleep. He seemed to have a bad cold.
Sherman felt guilty. The car was quiet. Only the soft breathing could be heard.
Lying in the bathtub, the warm water washing her body, Sherman involuntarily recalled the conversation she had with Kingsley at the bistro on the South Lane.
She seemed to clearly remember every concise word h e said and the look in his eyes...
She felt her heart skip a bit. Sherman took a deep breath, held back her feelings, and then shook her head lightly.
At this point, she felt exhausted. She, who was deeply heartbroken, simply didn't have the energy, mood, or courage to face a new relationship.
Also, she intuited that she couldn't afford to mess with a man like him. And she knew she didn't deserve him.
A yoga class was playing on the TV. She had almost recovered recently, so she thought it would be good for her to do yoga to relax and calm her mind.
The week after that, she had developed an extremely regular routine. She woke up at six every morning, had to eat breakfast, and then went to the office. In the evening, when she returned to her apartment, she would do forty minutes of yoga and then study. And she went to bed at ten o'clock every night.
This was a very fulfilled life for her. And Billy rarely appeared in her dreams.
In fact, when someone hurt one deeply, as long as one made up one's mind and vowed to forget that person, one would find that it was not difficult to forget that person.
She was too selfless in those seven years of her life. And she found that her life revolved around Billy completely. Only then did she feel she had wasted seven years of her life.
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