Chapter 4

Every joint and muscle in my body still ached faintly, as if I'd been crushed under some invisible weight.

So instead of leaving as originally planned, I stayed in the safe house, letting the deep, bone-penetrating pain keep me trapped in bed—like a punishment that had arrived too late.

I didn't cry.

The tears had long since evaporated in the flames that burned my past to ashes.

When I finally broke free from another chaotic dream, harsh sunlight filtered through the blinds covering the bulletproof window, casting striped shadows across the cold metal floor.

At the foot of my bed stood Tad and Leo.

"Morning." Tad offered a slightly awkward smile, holding a tray. "We brought you something to eat."

Without a word, Leo set the tray on my lap. On it were a few pieces of dry toast, a greasy, cold portion of scrambled eggs, some not-so-fresh fruit, and a murky glass of orange juice.

Half-hearted. Lifeless.

"Figured you needed your strength back," Leo added, sitting casually at the edge of my bed, his posture far too familiar to be innocent.

I lifted my eyes, staring at them coldly.

Their faces were calm, even slightly relaxed, as if nothing had happened—

As if the betrayal, the abandonment, and the crash that nearly killed me were just some meaningless illusion.

"Listen," Tad scratched the back of his neck, his tone like he was coaxing a stubborn child. "We're sorry about the… misunderstanding earlier. Celia said she saw your encrypted circle post that night, something about you at a party. She felt hurt, you know? When she got shot, she thought you were out having fun. She thought you left her to die."

Leo picked up immediately, voice even but laced with pressure. "She believes that completely. So maybe you should talk to her—apologize, clear things up, and let it go."

I stared at them, incredulous, then let out a short, bitter laugh.

"Maybe the ones who should be on their knees apologizing… are you."

Both froze.

Tad frowned, irritation flashing in his tone. "Apologize for what? We didn't do anything wrong. You didn't tell us you were in trouble. If you had, we would've been there."

A dry laugh escaped my throat. "So now I have to be bleeding out on the floor before you care? I went missing for days, and neither of you could spare one message to check if I was even alive."

"Watch your tone," Leo snapped, voice turning hard. "Celia was shot. She was dying. She needed us."

"And I didn't?"

My words cut through the air like a blade. "So unless I'm dead, I don't even deserve to be remembered?"

Before they could find an excuse, the door opened silently—

Celia appeared in the doorway.

She wore an oversized men's shirt—one of theirs, no doubt—and walked with exaggerated frailty. Her face was pale, her lips trembling, eyes brimming with perfect, shimmering tears.

"Are you… fighting because of me, Nancy?" she whispered, voice fragile as glass. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to get shot. I didn't want things to turn out like this…"

I stared at her.

The trembling, the pitiful posture, the emotional manipulation laced into every word.

As always—she played the victim flawlessly.

Tears slipped down her cheeks again, perfectly timed.

"I just don't want us to be enemies. We used to be like sisters. I miss those days so much."

And in an instant, the two men reacted as if some hidden switch had been flipped.

"Stop making her cry, Nancy!" Tad barked, eyes cold.

"Come on, Celia," Leo said softly, his voice dripping with tenderness. "You shouldn't be walking around. Let's get you back to bed."

Both turned to her, gazes full of care and warmth—poison-tipped needles piercing through the last fragile wall of my composure.

"I'll feed you something," Tad murmured, taking her hand naturally. "You need your strength."

"Right," Leo smiled. "Let's go get you some bluefin tuna and caviar—you deserve something nice."

Only then did they seem to remember I was still there.

"You can eat this, Nancy." Tad's tone was distant, dismissive—like he was addressing an unimportant subordinate. "You're discharged now. Don't be picky."

And with that, they left, escorting Celia away—leaving me alone in the cold, empty room.

I looked down at the tray on my lap.

The eggs were stiff and greasy, the toast curled and dry, the fruit sour with age.

From the hallway came faint laughter—Celia's bright, coquettish voice carrying clearly:

"Mmm~ I love caviar! You still remember I hate cheap toast, right? Only the best food deserves my stomach~"

Of course.

They left me the scraps—cold, flavorless remains—

while serving her a feast.

I didn't cry.

Even sorrow felt like a waste now.

The encrypted satellite phone vibrated with its distinctive buzz.

A message from my mother:

"Several safe house options and dress designs have been sent to your secure line. Choose one, darling."

I pressed the call button.

"Mother," I said, my voice steady and emotionless.

"Nancy! Did you see the venues and dresses? How's the floral theme?"

"Perfect," I replied. "I'll decide today. I'm leaning toward the vintage design."

"Excellent. The family will handle the arrangements. When will you return? Your intended partner is waiting for the meeting."

"In a few days. I have loose ends to tie up—but I'll be there on time. I can't wait to wear those gowns… and finish the wedding."

"Good girl," she said warmly, satisfaction softening her tone. "We'll be waiting."

When the call ended, I looked back at the plate of disgusting cold food—

and then I felt it.

A subtle tension thickened the air.

I lifted my gaze.

Tad and Leo stood in the doorway like ghosts.

I hadn't even heard them come back.

Their eyes locked on me, filled with confusion, suspicion, and something darker.

The first to speak was Leo, his voice low:

"You just said… wedding?"

Tad took a step forward, frowning. "What wedding?"