Summer at Blood Pack, crickets chirped incessantly.

Pamela had just entered the classroom when a heavy book came flying at her!

"You murderer!

Ungrateful wretch!

How dare you show up at school? Get out!"

"I can't believe you have the nerve to come here!

You got Scott's father killed! He thought you were in danger and went to save you, only to be stabbed over a dozen times by those rogues!"

"And you didn't even testify for our former Alpha in court! Just vanished!"

"You turned such a good man from hero to scapegoat! Where's your conscience?"

The insults followed the pain like angry hornets.

Pamela's throat tightened.

She silently walked to her desk, carved with slurs like 'murderer' and 'bitch'!

Just then.

A tall, striking young man appeared at the classroom door.

Scott. Too young to inherit the Alpha title, yet forced into it by his father's death.

The jeering stopped instantly.

Heart pounding, Pamela instinctively moved toward him. "Scott, I didn't skip court. I collapsed and was in critical care for three days..."

Scott froze mid-step.

The eyes that once sparkled at her now held only icy hatred.

He smirked. "Really?

Then why didn't you die on that operating table?"

Pamela went ghostly pale.

Yeah. Why hadn't she died?

A week ago, rogues cornered her in an alley after school.

Scott's father gave his life shielding her.

With no security footage, the rogues claimed George attacked first and they'd acted in self-defense.

Pamela—the only witness—was fighting for her life in ICU during the trial.

Without her testimony, the rogues got convicted of excessive force.

They were right. She'd gotten Scott's father killed.

Tears welling, Pamela choked out, "I'm sorry..."

The bell rang.

Scott shouldered past her to the back row.

All morning, nobody spoke to Pamela.

At lunch, she entered the cafeteria alone.

Her first time without Scott.

Suddenly, shouts erupted outside.

"Quick!

Get a teacher!"

"Scott's snapped!

He's skipping class to brawl with rogues—gonna kill someone!"

Pamela bolted.

She knew Scott's favorite skipping spots.

Minutes later, gasping and pale, she reached the alley entrance.

Scott took down seven Rogues single-handedly, though he didn't fare much better himself, his face covered in wounds.

He was still pounding their leader into the ground!

"Mercy... please stop..."

The Rogue whimpered for mercy, but Scott's eyes burned with vicious fury, showing no intention of stopping.

Any more would be fatal.

Pamela rushed over and desperately clung to Scott's arm.

"Enough, Scott. Stop."

Scott froze, halting his assault.

But moments later, he shoved her away violently, leaning against the wall to light a cigarette.

He then glanced at the fallen Rogues: "Where are your other buddies?

Get them here."

Clearly, he intended to keep fighting.

Pamela's heart ached seeing blood coating his hands.

Her slender frame blocked his path, voice choked: "Scott, don't hurt yourself like this. Uncle George would be heartbroken. If you need to vent, take it out on me."

Scott's icy gaze settled on her.

He blew an unsteady smoke ring toward her, smiling cruelly.

"Fine. Then you can die too."

Pamela stiffened.

Frowning impatiently, Scott strode out of the alley.

Watching his retreating figure, Pamela's reddened eyes spilled tears.

Facing the wind, she whispered: "Alright. I will die."

After this surgery, doctors said her heart condition had become inoperable.

With her current rate of congestive heart failure, she might not live another month.

After Scott left, Pamela stood clutching her chest for a long moment before staggering back to the classroom.

She rummaged through her messy desk for her medication.

Suddenly, several male classmates snatched the bottle from her hands, scattering its contents across the floor.

"Playing the victim?"

"These are just vitamins, right?

Hahaha!"

They jeered, stomping on the pills before grinding them underfoot.

Pamela watched the medicine turn to powder, her face paling as sharp pain pierced her heart.

The lead Beta sneered, "Aren't you gonna take them?

Pick ’em up and eat ’em!"

Collapsing into her seat, Pamela’s breathing grew ragged.

A boy yanked the red cord visible at her neck.

"Since when do you wear gemstone necklaces?

How much did your family take from the murderer’s family to skip the trial?"

Rage surged through Pamela.

She wrestled free, snatching back the cord.

"Shut up!

My mother gave me this!"

After doctors predicted her death, her mom insisted she wear it daily.

As they struggled, the classroom door slammed open.

Scott stood framed in the doorway, his gaze icy as it swept the scene.

The boys instantly released her, stammering, "Scott, we were just teaching her a lesson—"

But Scott didn’t even glance at Pamela, cutting them off impatiently: "Weren’t we playing basketball?

You coming or not?"

He hadn’t come to rescue her—just annoyed by the delay.

Pamela’s heart ached seeing fresh bruises on Scott’s face.

She remembered how he’d always drag her to his games, saying, "Who’d bring me water if you’re not there?"

Back then, she’d pretend not to understand: "Why me?"

He’d just smirk with those sparkling eyes: "You tell me."

Now, he wouldn’t spare her a second look.

As Scott turned to leave, a voice rang from the hallway:

"Scott!

Can I watch you play? I’ll bring water!"

It was Kim from the next class—daughter of Stone Pack’s Alpha.

She’d pursued Scott relentlessly since freshman year, facing rejection for three straight years.

This time, Scott didn’t refuse.

He nodded curtly: "Sure."

Kim beamed, falling into step beside him.

Watching them walk away shoulder-to-shoulder,

Pamela felt a stabbing pain deep in her chest. She fumbled for backup pills in her bag, swallowing them dry.

Scott skipped afternoon classes entirely.

During evening study hall, Pamela stared at his empty seat before opening her diary to a fresh page—

May 10, 2015 Sunny

Scott, 28 days until your Alpha coronation. This is my 278th diary entry for you.

I’d planned to confess by giving you this diary after the ceremony.

But now... I’ve lost the right to love you.

These words will never reach you.

But I will finish writing it, because I'll love you until my last breath.】

……

Arriving home after school, Pamela glanced toward Scott’s house across the street.

His windows remained dark—Scott hadn’t returned yet.

A pang of disappointment hit her before she turned to enter her own home.

The moment Pamela stepped inside, Anna approached: "How was school today, sweetheart?"

Pamela forced a teary smile. "It was fine."

Growing up in a single-parent household, she knew Anna had shouldered endless worry over her illness—Anna had seen her come into this world, and now would see her leave it.

Anna was already exhausted; Pamela refused to add to her burdens.

Studying her daughter, Anna sighed. "I went to court today to appeal the case. We’ll clear George’s name, I promise."

Pamela’s eyes instantly brightened. "Really?"

Anna nodded firmly but cautioned, "We must keep this from Scott for now. If it falls through… that boy’s heart would shatter."

Pamela nodded in understanding.

Gently polishing a necklace’s dusty chain, Anna murmured, "Wear this always. Don’t take it off."

"Okay."

Pamela retreated to her room.

Anna watched her go, a heavy sorrow crushing her chest until she finally covered her face in her hands, silent sobs shaking her shoulders.

Pamela never knew.

Hidden within that pendant was a discreet camera—Anna’s desperate attempt to preserve fragments of her daughter’s fading light.

The next morning, Pamela waited early on the school route.

When Scott appeared, she quickly offered yesterday's class notes.

"You skipped class yesterday. I organized these notes for you."

Scott halted mid-step and took them.

Seeing him accept, Pamela sighed in relief.

But then she watched him light the notebook corner with a lighter!

Flames instantly leaped up.

He tossed it aside like trash.

Scott sneered: "You think I still want the same college as you?"

Pamela froze.

They'd once promised to attend university together. Before the incident, Scott—who hated studying—had worked toward that goal.

Now that promise felt like another lifetime.

Suppressing chest pain, Pamela explained: "I thought... even for your mom—"

She trailed off under Scott's icy glare.

Scott lit a cigarette, laughing through smoke.

"My mom?

She's in a mental hospital now, lost in denial about Dad's death. Pamela, whose fault is that?"

His casual tone stabbed Pamela's heart like knives.

She turned pale: "I'm sorry..."

Even if the case reopened and cleared his dad's name,

she'd never repay this lifetime's debt to him and his family.

Scott ignored her, stepped over the charred notebook, and left.

Back at school,

Scott's empty seat meant he'd skipped again.

A classmate mocked: "Scott ditches school to avoid you. You killed his dad yet parade around him—disgusting."

The words struck Pamela like thunder.

Maybe they were right—she shouldn't be here.

After all, she had no future.

During break, Pamela texted Scott: [If you hate seeing me, I'll vanish. Just don't throw away your future.]

Scott still didn't reply.

By afternoon, he appeared.

Through the crowd, Pamela saw fresh bruises on his face but breathed easier.

During class photos, she instinctively moved toward Scott but stopped.

They'd stood together in every kindergarten, elementary, and middle school picture.

Scott had once boasted: "High school, college, every photo of yours—I'll always be by your side!"

Now Pamela stood front-row far left, Scott back-row far right.

They bookended the class, oceans apart.

This graduation photo would be their last together.

After group shots, classmates swarmed Scott for selfies.

Pamela didn't approach to embarrass herself.

Pamela knew she'd lost the right to take photos with Scott.

She waited until a photographer became available before approaching him softly, "Sir, could you... take a portrait of me alone?"

It occurred to her that she still lacked a proper funeral portrait.

After learning she wouldn't live past a month, Pamela had asked her mother about taking memorial photos, only to be met with furious refusal over the bad omen.

Still, she thought she should have one taken—at least she didn't look too terrible now.

The photographer agreed.

After the session, Pamela selected a satisfactory shot: "Sir, please develop this one. 8x10 inches."

The photographer froze. "Young lady, that size is only for... funeral portraits. It's bad luck."

Pamela offered a pale smile. "Yes, that's exactly what I need it for."

Scott's icy voice cut through the air behind her—

"What nonsense are you spouting now?

Funeral portrait?"

Pamela turned to see Scott glaring at her with stormy eyes.

Her heart clenched. After a heavy silence, she whispered, "Because I'll be gone soon."

The air stilled.

To her surprise, her raw honesty drew a scornful laugh from him. "If I recall, you've said that since kindergarten. Aren't you tired of repeating it?"

Pamela's face paled, but no rebuttal came.

Countless childhood surgeries had taught her the meaning of death far earlier than her peers.

When they met in kindergarten, he'd invited her to play on the slide.

She refused: "It might kill me."

Five-year-old Scott didn't understand death but sensed its gravity.

He shoved all his candy at her. "I won't play! Don't die!

I'll be your immortal knight—just stay alive, okay?"

Now, seventeen-year-old Pamela heard her once-knight snarl:

"Pamela, if you must die, do it far away. Don't even haunt my father in the afterlife!"

He strode off without a backward glance.

Wind rustled the trees.

That summer breeze carried a chilling bite, piercing straight through Pamela's heart.

She pressed a hand to her chest, standing frozen for eternity.

Only when her mother's necklace drew blood from her palm did she swallow the bitterness. "Understood."

She'd remember to avoid George Brown after death.

Kim White from the next class approached Scott. "Where are you going this summer, Victor?"

Amidst classmates' teasing,

Scott answered flatly, "Capital City."

Kim pressed, "Why?"

His gaze drifted forward. "To find a doctor for my mother."

Silence fell instantly.

Pamela's grip tightened on her pen, her heart throbbing.

She remembered fifteen-year-old Scott declaring: "I'll study medicine to fix your fragile heart!"

Back then, she'd just emerged from surgery—

the first time he'd witnessed her being wheeled into an operating room.

The fearless boy had reportedly wept before the Moon God all night.

Kim giggled. "Then I'll visit Capital City too."

The mood lightened again.

Scott didn't object to Kim's blushing suggestion.

Each word stabbed Pamela's heart.

No one knew she alone had no summer plans.

...

Pamela's health deteriorated rapidly afterward.

After yet another emergency resuscitation, she told Anna: "Withdraw me from school. I won't take the College Entrance Exams."

She couldn't bear distracting Scott's studies.

Anna wiped tears, eyes red-rimmed. "Anything you wish, darling."

The withdrawal was processed that day.

Pamela moved into the hospice ward.

On her third day there, Scott's unexpected call shattered the silence.

Pamela's fingers trembled as the familiar number danced across her screen, nearly making her doubt her own senses.

She pressed answer, greeted by a young man's icy tone demanding:

"Why would you abandon the College Entrance Exams, Pamela?"

Pamela froze.

She thought dropping out would make Scott happy since he wouldn't see her anymore.

But why did he sound angry?

Hesitantly, she whispered: "I promised not to appear before you again."

Scott fell silent before scoffing coldly: "Who gave you that right?

Pamela, you owe me. I make the rules. Did you think skipping College Entrance Exams and throwing away your life could repay my dad?"

"Let me tell you—it's not that easy!"

Pamela stood speechless for a long while.

Until the heart monitor beeped urgently beside her.

Scott's breath hitched: "You're at the hospital?"

She hung up without answering.

Turning, she stared at the medical tubes snaking across her body, tears silently tracing her temples.

Even if Scott demanded her return to school, she couldn't anymore.

Her heart couldn't handle daily life now.

...

During her brief recovery, Pamela wrote her 279th secret diary entry—

[May 21, 2015 Sunny

Scott, I've been hurting so much lately.

They gave me so many shots. It hurts.

Once they even hooked me to a Sambo machine. They say when that thing gets used in the ER, it means no more lifesaving measures. Death's close.

But I survived.

The doctors and nurses say I'm stubborn, that my will to live saved me.

Truth is, I don't fear death. But I can't die yet.

I haven't cleared Alpha's name. I haven't earned the right to see him...]

After a week in the ward,

Pamela felt well enough to stroll downstairs for fresh air.

Unexpectedly, she saw Scott the moment she stepped out.

A fragile hope lit her eyes: "Scott... did you come for me?"

His gaze drifted behind her.

The hospital sign read: Cardiac Surgery Ward.

He answered coldly: "Just picking up meds for my mom."

Pamela forced a smile: "Then... I won't bother you."

But as she turned, Scott stopped her: "Pamela, still not returning to school?

You're not dying. Why camp at the hospital?

Fishing for pity?"

She halted.

Tears welled as she met his eyes, yet she smiled: "Are you... worried I might die?"

Scott's expression shifted instantly.

His scrutiny sharpened, irritation rising.

How had she thinned so much in just a week?

The smallest hospital gown hung loose on her frame.

Even her necklace dangled on her protruding collarbone.

She stood so frail, as if a gust of wind could blow her away.

The thought unsettled him, hardening his tone.

"Troublemakers live forever. You won't die that easily."

He strode off without looking back.

Pamela lingered briefly before returning to her room.

Soon after,

Anna arrived, touching Pamela's cold cheek with news.

"The retrial for the former Alpha's case begins tomorrow."

Pamela's eyes instantly lit up. "That's wonderful."

The next day, fearing another delay, Pamela arrived at the courthouse by 8 AM.

At 10 AM sharp, the trial commenced.

This time, she finally stood in the witness box—right where she should have been all along—delivering her testimony with unwavering conviction:

"I testify that the former Alpha saved me!"

The verdict was final.

Those previously convicted of excessive self-defense were now found guilty of intentional homicide!

Pamela pressed a hand to her chest and turned, spotting Rachel and Scott seated silently in the family section.

Their eyes met, and her tears spilled over uncontrollably.

Scott, I told you the truth. I’ve cleared your father’s name.

Outside the courthouse,

Scott escorted Rachel to their car before approaching Pamela.

Anna glanced at the pair and tactfully stepped aside.

After a long pause, Scott spoke. "Thank you."

Pamela shook her head. "I should’ve done this years ago."

Scott fell silent again,

his gaze drifting toward Rachel. His voice lowered.

"Mom’s lucid today. She told me not to hate you."

Pamela’s nose stung, words failing her.

Scott paused, his eyes returning to her.

The sharp hatred that once hardened his features was gone, replaced by a calm cruelty as he spoke:

"Pamela, I don’t hate you anymore. But seeing you still reminds me how my father died... how my mother lost her mind."

"So in this lifetime, let’s not meet again."

Pamela froze, then forced a nod. "Alright."

Scott walked away without looking back.

Prophetic words.

At seventeen, Scott didn’t realize

this was already his final meeting with Pamela.

The College Entrance Exams began.

Early that morning, Pamela Garcia seemed more spirited than before. After changing clothes, she pleaded with her mother and doctors, begging to visit the testing center.

Anna Garcia finally relented, eyes red-rimmed: "But don't push yourself. Just one distant look, then straight back to the hospital."

"Deal!"

Pamela agreed cheerfully.

That day, Anna wheeled her chair through the crowd outside the testing center gates.

As the exam buses arrived, students poured out in waves.

Pamela spotted Scott Brown instantly.

Dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt, he strode confidently among classmates, radiating youthful vigor.

Watching his retreating figure, Pamela whispered: "Scott Brown, may your future shine diamond-bright."

He never glanced back, marching forward without pause.

Thus he missed Pamela collapsing in her wheelchair less than a hundred meters away.

For two full days,

Pamela waged her final battle against death in the emergency room.

Yet victory slipped away. The heart monitor screamed its piercing, drawn-out wail.

...

Emerging from the testing center, Scott felt an inexplicable sting deep in his chest.

"Scott, you alright?"

He shook his head, scanning the crowd wordlessly.

Nobody mentioned seeing Pamela these past two days.

Had she... skipped the exams?

When results were released, Scott finally made time to visit home.

His gaze drifted next door.

Had the Garcia family vanished? It felt like ages since he'd seen them.

After the exams, Pamela seemed to have evaporated into thin air.

Until a parcel arrived from Anna Garcia, sent from their ancestral home.

So Anna had taken Pamela back to their hometown.

Scott stared at the package for eternity, leaving it unopened.

He stored it away in a cabinet.

Ten years later.

June 2025, Blood Pack.

Scott sat at the center of the hotel booth, dressed in a suit, his boyish innocence long faded.

Each time the door opened, his gaze instinctively darted toward it, carrying a hint of unnoticed tension.

After repeated disappointments, he silently took a sip of liquor.

Classmates who hadn't met in a decade exchanged warm greetings.

They chatted about their current lives and reminisced about their awkward high school days.

As it was College Entrance Exams month again, after several rounds of drinks, someone suddenly brought up 'Pamela'.

"Remember how Pamela topped our entire school for three straight years? She looked so delicate, yet studied like a genius!"

"Such a shame... Someone that brilliant never even got to take the College Entrance Exams..."

"Looking back now, we treated her terribly."

At this, everyone froze, cautiously eyeing Scott's reaction.

Surprisingly, his expression remained calm, as if those memories were as fleeting as smoke.

He swirled his glass, casually asking about Pamela's recent life.

"Speaking of which, why didn't Pamela come? How's she been lately?"

The room fell deathly quiet.

All eyes turned to Scott, both shocked and bewildered.

Scott frowned. "What's wrong?"

The class monitor gazed at him silently for a long moment before speaking slowly.

"You didn't know? Pamela died ten years ago—on the day the College Entrance Exams ended."