Still a little groggy from just waking up, Lilian hadn't fully processed Morrison's confession. By the time her mind caught up, her first instinct was to toss the two sheets of A4 back at him, a sharp, annoyed sound escaping her lips:
"Boring."
As she threw the papers, Morrison caught her wrist, his gaze burning into her.
"I love you, Lilian."
Three simple words—but not just written words. Spoken aloud, they carried the weight of his heart, his intention.
Lilian glanced at the hand he held and curled her lips into a cold, ironic smile. Her voice was sharp, cutting straight to the point:
"Do you love me… or just yourself?"
Over the past year, Lilian had heard from Laurent that he had broken up because of fear of commitment. Fear of commitment meant he loved himself most, right? Not willing to be bound to a woman for life—it had to be self-love, nothing else.
