Ethan Sullivan purchased two tickets for the Ferris wheel.
Sophia Sullivan followed him into the gondola.
In the confined space, they sat shoulder to shoulder.
Moonlight streamed through the glass, refracting the city's neon lights into a kaleidoscope of colors.
Ethan gazed out the window, his sharp profile appearing especially striking against the night sky.
"When I was a child, I often watched other kids come here with their parents."
His voice was soft, laced with subtle self-deprecation.
"My father never allowed me to visit places like this. My mother was perpetually melancholic—she barely even looked at me."
The Ferris wheel ascended slowly, casting shifting hues of light across his face.
Yet most of his figure remained shrouded in shadow, as if he didn't belong amidst the dazzling cityscape.
"The Ethan Sullivan of today can go wherever he pleases," Sophia murmured.
Her voice was like a gentle breeze in the night, soothing and steady.
"Many people spend their adulthood making up for what they missed in childhood."
"You've already done remarkably well."
In the distance, mountain ridges flickered in and out of view beneath the moonlight.
Ethan turned to look at her, his gaze profound.
"Wanting to protect someone is what makes you strive to be better."
Sophia suddenly chuckled.
"I'm curious—how could someone as fearless as you be afraid of the dark?"
The corner of Ethan's lips lifted, a hint of mischief flashing in his eyes.
"Want to know, Ms. Sullivan? Let's play a game."
His voice was low, carrying a magnetic allure.
"Truth or Dare. If you win, I'll tell you."
Sophia arched a brow.
"Haven't you lost enough today, Mr. Sullivan?"
"Losing to you is always worth it."
"Then be careful," Sophia drawled playfully. "If I win, I might just make you jump from here."
"Fine by me." Ethan smirked, though his eyes were deadly serious. "That way, you'd never forget me."
Compared to Ryan Lawrence, compared to Ian—the dead were always the most unforgettable.
Sophia studied his calm expression, unable to tell if he was joking or sincere.
"Rock-paper-scissors, then."
She leaned back slightly, setting the rules.
"The winner chooses truth—we'll exchange one secret each."
"Deal."
Ethan lost the first round.
Sophia flashed a victorious scissors sign, grinning like a smug cat.
"My win, Mr. Sullivan."
"A bet's a bet," Ethan said, his voice deep. "Should I jump now?"
"Absolutely not." Sophia shook her head. "I'd rather not be hunted down by the Sullivan family."
Resting her chin lazily on her palm, she fixed her gaze on him.
"I choose truth. Why are you afraid of the dark?"
Ethan looked toward the fogged glass.
For a moment, it was as if he had returned to that night thick with mist.
"Over a decade ago, I was kidnapped by human traffickers."
His tone was eerily calm, as if recounting someone else's story.
"My family searched for me for a long time. Eventually, I reappeared in heavy fog, covered in injuries."
"When I woke up, I had amnesia. Since then, I've feared the dark."
Sophia fell silent for a beat.
She, too, had once been kidnapped—she understood how deeply that terror could etch itself into a person.
And Ethan had lost his memories—proof of just how severe the trauma had been.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
Her voice came out slightly hoarse.
"Funny coincidence—I was kidnapped ten years ago as well."