“No wonder you loved him so much,” Cristofer remarked.

“Yes, I love him. Cristofer, I lived alone in our villa for five years when we were together. During those years, it rained one hundred and sixteen times and thundered two hundred and twenty-seven times. When thunderstorms struck, I would huddle by the French window in our bedroom, looking out at the villa’s gate. Each time I saw a passing car’s headlights, I would hope that you were returning. But, to my disappointment...” Estelle trailed off.

Hearing her words, Cristofer felt as if a knife were piercing his heart. “It’s all my fault, Star. I blame myself...”

“There’s no point in...