8: The Test Results

In that instant, Lillian's heart skipped a beat, and a flicker of panic crossed her eyes, the sensation of being caught red-handed washing over her. Yet, she quickly regained her composure, pressing her pale lips together and stating plainly without any attempt to conceal, "You saw everything, didn't you?"

Her candid demeanor slightly softened the inquisitive look in Oliver's eyes. He approached, his gaze fixating on the now-empty medicine bowl in her hands.

"The medicine I had the kitchen painstakingly prepare—you discarded it all without a single sip?"

Lillian spared him a glance. "I've made it clear I wouldn't drink it."

With that, she walked out with the empty bowl.

Oliver followed, his voice crisp. "Last night, did you intentionally get caught in the rain?"

Hearing this, Lillian hesitated, then shook her head in denial. "Why would I do such a thing?"

Yet Oliver remained skeptical, eyeing her closely. "Is that so? Then why refuse to go to the hospital and also refuse the medicine?"

Lillian could only offer a trivial explanation, "The medicine was too bitter, I didn't want to drink it."

"Is that all?" Oliver squinted, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice, persistently questioning, "About last night..."

He meant to ask about the message, if she had caught wind of something. But then, considering she hadn't even entered the club's doors last night, how could she possibly know?

Lillian had no wish to prolong this dialogue, fearful of saying too much.

She had a secret she didn't want him to discover.

Just then, a servant came in with food, offering Lillian a chance to break from the conversation and eat.

Given her illness, the servant had prepared light, easily digestible meals.

But Lillian, lacking appetite, barely touched the food before setting the bowl aside, and the servant promptly came to clear it away.

Oliver watched silently, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The entire atmosphere of the room felt wrong, including him.

Although typically short-tempered, Oliver rarely found himself this agitated.

Feeling suffocated by the stagnant air in the room, he turned and left.

Once he was gone, Lillian's façade of indifference crumbled, her gaze falling to her toes as she lost herself in thought.

Before sleep

Another bowl of the hated concoction was delivered. Since Oliver was already aware and not at home, Lillian didn't bother pretending, flatly stating, "I don't want to drink it, and there's no need to prepare any more."

The servant, holding the bowl of medicine, was baffled.

With a detached air, Lillian added, "If there's nothing else, you should get some rest. I'm quite tired."

The servant left the room, clearly puzzled.

Oliver didn't return.

The bedroom remained silent and solitary.

Lying down, Lillian's head still spun—a lingering effect of the fever. Though her body was heavy, her mind was crystal clear.

He hadn't come back... It was obvious where he had gone.

Lillian turned over, closed her eyes, and was haunted by a single thought.

If it had been her who had jumped in to save him back then, would they have avoided this impending divorce?

Regrettably...

There are no 'ifs' in life.

Lillian drifted off into a troubled sleep, a tear she didn't even feel slipping down her cheek.

In the middle of the night, she vaguely sensed someone beside her, the bed dipping slightly.

Had he returned?

But her consciousness was quickly engulfed by an endless darkness.

Waking up the next day, Lillian instinctively reached out to the other side of the bed.

It was cold.

Her lips pursed, a shadow creeping into her eyes.

Early in the morning, a servant brought up food and another bowl of the detested medicine.

After freshening up, Lillian was greeted by the pungent scent of the herbal remedy, her brows knitting together instinctively.

"Madam, this medicine..."

Unable to bear it any longer, Lillian spoke with a rare sternness, "Didn't I say I didn't want any more of this medicine? Why is it here again?"

Her usual gentleness replaced by abrupt severity, the servant was taken aback.

Realizing her emotional slip, Lillian quickly regained her composure, massaging her temples apologetically, "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well. Please take the medicine away."

The servant had no choice but to retreat with the bowl.

In the kitchen, the butler saw the full bowl of medicine brought back and frowned, "Madam is still not drinking her medicine?"

The servant nodded, then recounted the recent exchange.

The butler, noting the servant's discontent, spoke sternly, "You all know how good the madam usually is to you. She must be in a poor mood because of her illness. Don't hold any resentment."

Blushing at the butler's strict tone, the servant shook her head, "How could I be upset with madam?"

"That's good. Whatever happens, she is still our madam."

But wasn't Serena the one Master truly fancied, as discussed the day before? Perhaps soon, they would have a new madam?

Lost in thought, a chilling voice abruptly cut through.

"Is she still refusing the medicine?"

The butler and servant were startled, looking up to see Oliver holding a suit and car keys, his presence as cold as ice. Having finished breakfast, he was about to leave for work when he noticed the same full bowl of medicine on the servant's tray and paused to inquire.

The butler nodded, "Yes, sir."

Then, seemingly recalling something, the butler asked, "Sir, what is this medicine for?"

Oliver was displeased with her persistent refusal to take her medicine. Not only yesterday but still today?

"It's for her fever."

Realizing it was just fever medicine, the butler sighed in relief. It wasn't a serious issue, after all.

However, the servant seemed surprised upon hearing it was for fever and without much thought blurted out, "Oh, it's just for the fever. I was so worried, I thought it was..."

Before she could finish, she felt the butler and Oliver's piercing gaze turn toward her.

Realizing her slip, she quickly smiled at Oliver, "Anyway, it's good that madam is okay."

"What do you mean?"

Oliver's sharp mind caught the unsaid implication in the servant's interruption. "Explain!"

Intimidated by his fierce gaze, the servant murmured, "I... I'm not entirely sure, but when I was clearing out the bathroom trash, it looked like there was a torn-up hospital report."

Oliver's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What kind of report?"

The servant shook her head, "I couldn't tell; it was torn up and seemed wet from the rain. I only noticed because I saw the words 'report' on it."

Oliver demanded, "Where is it?"