Chapter 2

I slipped the medical report back into the deepest corner of the drawer.

The familiar surge of nausea bubbled up in my stomach, bringing a faint, metallic taste to the back of my throat.

Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding a tube of burn cream and a roll of gauze.

“Come here. Let’s take care of that.”

He sat at the edge of the mattress and patted the spot beside him.

I walked over and held my hand out to him.

His touch was as tender as ever, the cotton swab dabbing gently across the ruptured blisters.

“Jane, Evelyn is young yet. She lacks discretion,” he murmured as he wound the gauze. “But her intentions are good. You holding on to that steaming bowl earlier—were you just throwing a tantrum at me?”

I stared down at his long, slender fingers.

These were the hands that once checked and rechecked the water temperature just to make sure I wouldn’t touch anything remotely hot.

Now, they were nonchalantly tending to my horribly burned hand.

“I wasn’t throwing a tantrum,” I said softly. “I just wanted to see how much I could take.”

Harry’s fingers paused as he let out a resigned sigh. “You’re too stubborn. Evelyn’s been crying all morning, feeling awful about what happened. I told her to sleep in the guest room for a few days so you don’t have to look at her and get upset.”

I said nothing.

There were three bedrooms in the house: the master, a home office, and a north-facing guest room.

When Evelyn first moved in, she complained that the guest room was too chilly, so Harry converted the office into a bedroom for her.

Now he was telling me she’d move into the guest room.

At ten that night, I stepped out of the bathroom after a shower, only to find my pillow and duvet tossed onto the hallway couch.

Evelyn stood by the master bedroom door in her nightgown, a bright, triumphant smile lighting her face.

“Jane, the AC in the guest room is broken. Harry said I could sleep in the master bedroom tonight. You can’t feel heat or cold anyway, so a night in the guest room shouldn’t bother you, right?”

Down the hall, the office door was shut tight. Harry was inside on a video conference.

I walked over, leaned down, and gathered my bedding into my arms.

“Okay.”

Evelyn blinked, caught off guard, before curling her lip in a slight pout. “Harry said you’d definitely throw a fit. Looks like you have more sense than he’d expected.”

I carried my duvet into the guest room.

The mattress was hard, and the air carried a faint, musty dampness.

As I lay down, the sharp spasms in my stomach grew more frequent.

I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my doctor:

“Dr. Wayne, can we move the surgery up?”

The reply came back almost instantly:

“Given your condition, there’s a risk of severe internal bleeding at any moment. The earliest I can fit you in is the day after tomorrow, in the morning.”

I typed back a brief reply:

“That’s good.”

The next morning, I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs, about to head for the office to wrap up my final handovers.

Harry was in the foyer, slipping on his shoes.

“I’m heading your way today. I’ll give you a ride.”

Out of sheer habit, I reached for the front passenger door, only to find Evelyn already inside, adjusting the seat angle.

Seeing me, she turned around. “Jane, I’m feeling a bit carsick today. Harry said I could sit up front.”

She pointed toward the back. “Why don’t you take the back seat? It’s not like you’d get uncomfortable anyway.”

Harry opened the driver’s door and looked at my hand resting on the handle. “Jane, Evelyn really does get nauseous easily. Be a good host.”

I glanced at the neck pillow attached to the passenger seat—the one I had personally chosen.

Harry had bought it specifically for me, worrying that because I couldn’t feel pain, I wouldn’t notice if a sudden brake sprained my neck.

Now, that exact pillow was resting right behind Evelyn’s neck.

I let go of the handle, opened the rear door, and slid inside.

The car pulled smoothly out of the neighborhood into the thick stop-and-go of morning traffic.

Evelyn chattered away from the front seat, while Harry offered occasional, soft-spoken replies.

Suddenly, my stomach churned violently, a sharp metallic taste surging up my throat.

I clapped a hand over my mouth, but I was a second too late—a pool of dark crimson liquid spilled onto the floor mat.

The car immediately filled with a thick, coppery smell.

Evelyn pinched her nose as she turned around. “Jane, what are you doing? Why did you throw up in the car?”

Harry glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his brows knitting tightly. “Jane, did you eat something bad this morning? Did you have too much juice?”

I wiped the dark blood from the corner of my mouth with a paper towel, clutching the bloodied, crumpled tissue tight in my palm.

“Yeah. The tomato juice went bad.”

Harry let out a sigh. “You really need to take better care of your stomach. I’ll take you for a checkup this weekend.”

I turned to stare at the streetscapes receding outside the window.

I wouldn’t be spending any more weekend with this man.