Summer With You

Everyone said I married into the Thorne family purely on the strength of a pretty face and a well-timed bout of amnesia.

That was until Professor Kyle Gilbert, A-Universitys genius, invented a time machine and publicly suggested to my husband: Aren't you curious, Mr. Thorne, what your immaculately backgrounded wife looked like at eighteen?

My face paled. I forced a smile: "Don't we all look a bit rough at eighteen? Nothing worth seeing. Let's go, Sebastian."

I assumed Sebastian Thorne, with his usual composure, would flatly refuse such a farce. But the man simply didn't move. His gaze swept past Kyle, finally resting on my stark white face, and he nodded: "Alright."

Sebastian Thorne's agreement caused a considerable stir in the room. I paused, slightly stunned. Then, I tried to lift the corners of my lips. "These newly invented machines, don't they carry some potential risks? Maybe we should wait a few years until theyre safer to try"

My words were cut short by the genius's calm interjection. "Mrs. Thorne, are you questioning my expertise?"

Kyle Gilbert, A-University's most brilliant graduate in recent years. Young, yet he had published numerous top-tier papers, at the forefront of various research fields. The time machine was his passion project, an invention he had poured years of effort into, presented to the public only after multiple tests. I breathed out a small smile: "Not at all." "I just feel it's unnecessary."

I looked at Sebastian, my voice soft: "You know, my parents passed away early, and I've finally gotten through that tough time. Of course, I don't want to revisit those painful memories. Besides, all those forgotten memories between us, youve already taken me to relive them, haven't you?"

Sebastian was actually a calm and somewhat languid person. Five years my senior, he rarely forced me to do anything. But at this moment, he remained still. His eyes were fixed on my face, then calmly dropped to observe the tense lines on the back of my hand. He spoke with a casual air: "Eighteen-year-old you, I don't think I've ever seen her."

I was momentarily stunned. Eighteen. The image that flashed in my mind wasn't carefree youth. It was the spinning fan in the classroom, under which I could never comprehend the problems. The lewd jokes of boys, the teachers disdain, my boyfriends indifference. And my cousins cruel, beautiful face.

What Sebastian wanted to see was my cousin, his vibrant young fiance. The pretty girl who occasionally did unkind things, but with a sweet smile, she could win everyone's affection.

I never liked dark chocolate. Sebastian once asked me why. I just said I'd eaten too much as a child and grew tired of it. The truth was, when I was ten, my cousin had poured a whole cup of hot cocoa over my head in the bathroom, sweetly laughing: "Didn't you tell Mom and Dad you wanted chocolate? Can't let it go to waste!" Her followers held my head down. That was my first taste of chocolate, scalding hot and melting. It was sickeningly sweet, choking my throat, making me unable to utter a sound. Only tears streamed down. Looking up, all I could see were the four walls and her dazzling, radiant smile. My eyes looked very much like hers, so much so that even the small mole at the corner of my eye was in the exact same spot. This was why I later succeeded in impersonating her.

Sebastian, after the fact, most loved to kiss the redness at the corner of my eyes. He always said that even though Id been lost for so many years, those eyes were still as beautiful as when he first saw them. For five years of marriage, I had never been exposed.

I composed my emotions, took a deep breath: "Just eighteen, we have photos at home, don't we? I'll dig them out for you when we get back."

"But I want to see for myself," the man's gaze shifted from the miniature time machine back to me, his voice slightly rising at the end, as if genuinely curious, "A well-behaved, studious girl, sounds quite appealing."

"Well-behaved, studious." I smiled, watching Sebastian Thorne's Maybach drive further and further away towards his company, then my expression completely crumbled. Every single word of that description was utterly unlike me.

Turning around, I saw the A-University genius. His silhouette was even more imposing than before, dark, messy hair covering his prominent brow. Only that cold, detached aura remained unchanged. This machine was clearly aimed at me.

I followed him to a secluded spot. The man's tall frame completely blocked the last ray of light in the corner. "What exactly do you want?" I pushed him hard, but couldn't budge him. Instead, he grabbed my wrist and pressed me against the wall. Kyle Gilbert's gaze traced every inch of my features, his eyes churning with dark, unreadable emotions. After a long moment, he coldly uttered two words: "Get back together."

For a moment, I didn't understand what he meant. He deigned to repeat it, his voice clear and cold: "I said, break up with him, and then we get back together. I can accept you standing by my side."

I found it absurd. "Kyle Gilbert, do you know what you're saying?"

"Of course," he stared at me, emphasizing calmly, "Iris Hayes, only I know who the real you is. As long as you break up with him, I can guarantee that the time machine won't expose your secret."

In the silent, breathless staring match, I abruptly pushed him away. "Kyle Gilbert, what do you take me for?" I glared at him, my breath slightly trembling, confirming each word: "Wasn't it you who coldly said we should break up back then?" He pressed his lips together, silent, his dark eyes showing little emotion. That same indifferent expression, just like ten years ago.

Back then, when my cousin and I tied for first place in the English competition, as the student council president, he gave the scholarship to my cousin. He said Olivia Thorne had just lost her parents, and her family was penniless; she needed that money for college. And my grades were so poor that I was destined not to stand at the same level as him. "Iris Hayes, neither I nor anyone else has an obligation to bear your useless and wasteful life." "If your college entrance exam results come out and you don't get into the same university as me, then we're destined not to be on the same path."

At that time, I truly hated Kyle Gilbert, so much so that whenever I thought of it later, I wanted to loudly question him. If the definition of a partner was a like-minded fellow traveler, then why did he pursue me, the bad student?

Seeing me bring up old matters, Kyle Gilbert's eyes merely flickered, his voice still showing little fluctuation: "I just made the best choice at the time. That money, even if I gave it to you, would only be thrown into your mother's exorbitant medical bills. What would be the point?" He was still so rational to the point of cruelty, stating his reasons so openly, as if certain I wouldn't care.

"Get back together with me, and all my money can be yours. I've achieved enough; I don't need a partner to stand by me. I just need you." The man's gaze was fervent and dark. But I only found it amusing, so amusing that my heart didn't even ache. I pushed his hand away, and through the haze of tears in my eyes, stubbornly told him: "Then you're wrong, Kyle Gilbert. That scholarship, I cared about it deeply. I'll never get over it."

I pushed him away and turned to leave. The man stared at my retreating back and suddenly spoke: "What if I gave you the justice you wanted?" People always romanticize the path not taken. Kyle Gilbert always believed that was the best choice back then. But since I found it so hard to accept, he wouldn't mind letting that event replay, letting me get what I called "absolute fairness."

Back at the mansion, Martha had already filled the bathtub with hot water. When Sebastian returned, I still had my head submerged in the now-cold water. The man's distinctly veined hand gripped the back of my neck, pulling me up, a hint of amusement in his narrow eyes: "Trying to drown yourself?"

I didn't speak, so he asked, "Still mad?"

I turned my face away awkwardly. "No."

"Then why are you so resistant? After all, aren't you curious what kind of person you were before you lost your memory?" Seeing that I still wouldn't utter a sound, he simply good-naturedly ruffled my head, casually reminiscing: "Speaking of which, the first time I saw you at nineteen, you also used to sulk like this often, willful and unrestrained. You insisted on fulfilling our family's engagement and marrying me, and even wanted to follow me to study abroad. If it wasn't for later"

He stopped there. If my cousin hadn't fallen into the ocean on our engagement day. They would have already walked down the aisle. It wasn't until a few years later, while he was on vacation on a small island, that he unexpectedly found me, disguised as his amnesiac cousin.

The bathroom was filled with mist. The man's palm gently rested on the back of my head, drawing us closer. His voice was low: "Do you know, Olivia, I can never quite connect the current you with the you before your memory loss." "I've always wondered what kind of trauma made you such a careful and gentle person, so gentle that I can no longer read your heart." He gently rubbed his forehead against mine, almost a whisper: "Was your former personality a pretense?" "Perhaps by understanding more of your past, I can know which version of you, the former or the present, loves me more?"

The miniature time machine lying in his palm glowed red. My pupils constricted. I had no time to stop him. The next second, his long finger moved. Click. We both plunged back ten years.

How did that time machine end up in Sebastians hands? I gazed at my own delicate, childlike face in the mirror, closing my eyes in despair. Taking off my wedding ring, I walked out of the restroom. Two or three students in school uniforms chatted and joked in the hallway. I pursed my lips and walked through them, inevitably hearing the boys lewd whistles.

"Iris, class is starting! Hurry!" The class president called to me from the door of Class 18.

Iris Hayes.

My mind wavered. My mother gave birth to me in the lush midsummer. She hoped I would always be as vibrant as the grass and trees. How long had it been since I heard someone call my name? It seemed to have started when I decided to impersonate Olivia Thorne and marry into the affluent family.

But life with Sebastian Thorne wasn't actually too bad. He was assertive and unyielding at work, but at home, he was a lazy, aloof cat. On slow afternoons, he loved to curl up with me to watch movies, tend to the balcony plants, or nap on my lap. Sometimes, he was even willing to learn a dish I wanted to eat, step by step, following a tutorial. I truly couldn't say anything bad about him. Except, the person he loved wasn't me.

Outside, the sunlight was blinding. I suppressed the slight bitterness in my heart and walked into the classroom. The oppressive, narrow space carried the sweaty smell of boys who had just finished gym class, and even the cicadas outside sounded particularly monotonous. This was my most hated eighteen.

In English class, I wasn't paying much attention, just propping my head up, annoyed, trying to figure out how to avoid meeting Sebastian. A few girls in the back row were whispering, discussing how the organizer of this English competition was a young, wealthy, repatriated entrepreneur who had even visited our school that morning.

"I just passed by and glanced. He's really an expat, so tall and handsome. The principal arranged for him to be given a tour by a school history guide, and as soon as he got the list, he picked Olivia Thorne's name."

"Why not Iris? Didn't those two tie for first in the English competition?"

Someone snorted, disdainfully: "Olivia Thorne is so excellent, isn't it logical to pick her? Unlike this one in our class, who attracts too much attention, she really thinks getting high scores qualifies her as the top student."

I slowly blinked, finally realizing the exact time period. It was precisely when Olivia and I had participated in the English competition, tied for first place, and were deciding who should get the scholarship. But in my memory, this entrepreneur never appeared.

In the VIP lounge. The principal was pouring tea for the distinguished man before him, apologizing with a smile: "Mr. Thorne, you didn't notify us of your early arrival; our preparations are quite inadequate."

The man's gaze was fixed on the tea leaves floating in his cup, as if deep in thought: "It's nothing. I only came to see someone, to confirm something."

Soon after, the class president brought back news, saying that Olivia Thorne was resting in the dorm due to menstrual cramps and couldn't serve as the school history guide. The principal apologized, asking, "Would you like to choose someone else?"

Sebastian Thorne looked at the two high-scoring exam papers on the table, then reached out and flipped over the other one, noticing the boldly written name. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Iris Hayes?"

"Yes, Iris Hayes," the principal quickly smiled. "Although she's in the lower-achieving class, her English is excellent. She even tied for first place with Olivia Thorne in this competition." "And according to other students, she's been memorizing vocabulary in the hallway every morning at 5:30 AM for the past few months! A very diligent child; she won't disappoint you."

The man pondered for a moment: "Two first-place ties, but why did only Olivia Thorne receive the scholarship?"

"This this to be honest, we were just about to address that matter."

Seeing the principal hesitate, Sebastian lost interest in pressing further. After all, he wasn't someone who particularly liked to meddle. Three days, for him, was still too short. Sebastian glanced at his wristwatch and suddenly asked his assistant, "What's the date today?"

"August 1st, Mr. Thorne. Is there something wrong?"

Early August. Not quite the same time as his wife's menstrual cycle. But she had fallen into the sea and suffered shock-induced amnesia. Sebastian didn't dwell on such details. The man paused in thought, then instructed, "Go buy some brown sugar water and heat patches."

"You mean to say?" The principal asked hesitantly.

The man tucked in his long legs, stood up, and politely nodded: "I won't tour the school history museum. You have important matters to attend to, so I won't disturb you." "I'll meet the scholarship recipient, and then I'll leave."

The bell for class dismissal rang, and I was hesitating whether or not to go find Kyle Gilbert. After all, just sitting around waiting wasn't an option. He had promised me he wouldn't expose my secret.

Suddenly, the class president tapped me, asking me to go to the office. As soon as I entered, all the teachers and students were therethe principal, the homeroom teacher, the invigilator, the students who sat around me at the time, and Kyle Gilbert. The young man wore the student council president's uniform, his shoulders broad, his legs long, as cold and aloof as I remembered. He merely glanced at me, then brought up the surveillance video from that day on his computer, displaying it for everyone. "Since Iris Hayes has an objection to this scholarship evaluation, we will re-evaluate it, with no favoritism towards anyone."

With just one look, I recognized himKyle Gilbert, also from ten years in the future. The fairness I had tearfully demanded years ago, he was now specifically giving me with a time machine. In the office, the young man's voice was not loud. He looked at me, questioning me clearly, word by word: "After the listening portion of the recording ended, the invigilator had already announced to stop answering. Iris Hayes, why didn't you put down your pen?"

My breath caught; I froze.

Under everyones piercing gazes, I slowly, inch by inch, clenched my fingers: "I was checking if I had filled in the answer sheet incorrectly."

"And if you had found a mistake, what then?" Kyle Gilberts voice was flat, yet his words were almost accusatory, "Were you going to violate exam rules and make alterations?"

"No," I said.

As soon as the words left my mouth, Kyle Gilbert expressionlessly tossed my answer sheet onto the table, pointing at the still-unwiped pencil marks, and said: "For the last question of the listening comprehension, you originally chose A, but the moment before the invigilator collected the papers, you glanced to the left front, then secretly changed it to B, just like Olivia Thorne." "Iris Hayes, do you admit this point?"

The bit of ignoble secret in my heart had nowhere to hide under the bright, fervent sunlight outside the window. I remained silent, unwilling to speak. Kyle Gilbert asked me one last time, his gaze scrutinizing: "Yes, or no." In the quiet, spacious office, my gaze was fixed on the floor, and I painstakingly uttered: "No."

In the face of such evidence, any defense seemed pale. But I still slowly and stubbornly spoke: "I didn't peek at Olivia's paper." "I was just looking at the clock. The exam room clock was half a minute fast, and I was checking if there was still time to make changes."

"Looking at the clock? Iris Hayes, how much credibility do you think that excuse has?" Kyle Gilbert sneered, pressing closer, as if he wouldn't stop until this accusation was pinned on me. Even the principal, at this moment, sternly spoke: "Malice will only harm yourself in the end, Iris Hayes. I hope you'll be honest."

"I didn't, the exam room clock was half a minute fast, youre being unfair!" My voice was loud, my eyes red-rimmed, as if I wanted to vent all the years of indignation.

Again, the word "fairness." Kyle Gilbert beside me impatiently closed his eyes. But where in the world is there absolute fairness? "Then is that half-minute you overran fair to Olivia Thorne? And fair to the other students? The surveillance now shows you cheated in violation of regulations. Do you want to tell me what 'fairness' even means?"

The young man's questions came one after another, so sharp they left me speechless. I stared at him blankly, my eyes slowly welling up. I suddenly found I couldn't understand him anymore. "Didn't you say it, Kyle Gilbert?" My voice was very soft, stubbornly confirming this with him. "Our school clock was half a minute fast."

The atmosphere dropped to zero. The young man's thin lips gradually tightened into a cold, flat line. The homeroom teacher hesitantly spoke: "Didn't Kyle already have someone adjust that clock?"

The silent air was broken by that sentence. My face went pale, my body rigid. I couldn't utter another word. The fairness I had desperately pursued suddenly seemed ridiculous at this moment.

Just then, a student suddenly ran in, breathless. "Principal, Mr. Thorne is back. He said he wants to see you again."