Chapter 2

I felt feverish. My body was aching all over. My limbs were heavy, and I couldn't even summon the strength to argue back.

At least Bryan finally noticed the pile of soaked clothes in the corner. A flicker of realization passed through his eyes—something like guilt, or maybe just reluctant responsibility. Without another word, he rushed to dress me and get me to the hospital.

His phone rang a few times, but for once, he ignored it, too focused on helping me.

Until that one ringtone.

He had just pulled me up when it chimed through the room. Without hesitation, his hands left me. I barely managed to stay upright as he strode into the living room to answer.

A saccharine voice drifted over. "Bryan, the party's over. The rain's so heavy… Can you come pick me up?"

No hesitation. Not even a pause. He simply threw a cursory "I have to go, I'll be back soon" over his shoulder before vanishing out the door.

My mouth tasted bitter. My heart felt even worse.

She had her own custom ringtone, just one chime, and he picked up immediately. Meanwhile, I had called him over and over, stranded in the storm, my calls lost in the sea of unimportant notifications.

Why had I never seen it before?

Love and indifference—it only took one glance to tell them apart.

With the last of my strength, I dialed for an ambulance before the fever dragged me under.

…

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed.

Familiar voices had stirred me awake. Through the crack in the door, I saw Bryan.

He was standing outside, carefully supporting Peggy Westin, his assistant. Even his voice was laced with concern.

"You got a little wet getting out of the car. Let's have a doctor check on you, just in case. I don't want you ending up like Lydia."

As they passed my room, Peggy glanced up. Our eyes met.

A slow, taunting smile curled her lips.

"Oh, Bryan," she cooed, her voice all honey and malice, "Lydia has a fever, but you didn't stay with her?" She pouted. "Is it because I'm more delicate? Because if I got sick, you'd be more worried?"

Bryan hesitated for half a second before brushing it off. "I'll take her to the hospital after I get you checked out."

Just then, a nurse pushed open my door.

"Lydia, you're awake. Has your family arrived yet?"

Bryan stiffened.

But Peggy, unsatisfied with losing his attention even for a second, tugged at his sleeve and whined that they were calling her name.

Once, that would've torn me apart. I would've sobbed, begged, felt like my heart was being carved out of my chest.

But now?

I pressed a hand to my chest and felt… nothing. Or maybe just numbness.

I smiled and shook my head. "No one's coming. I can handle the paperwork myself."

The nurse frowned. "You passed out from a high fever. You should be resting. We can wait for your family—"

"I'm her family." Bryan's deep voice cut through the hallway.

The nurse blinked, glancing between Bryan and Peggy, still clinging to his arm. Then she nodded and told him to go handle my hospitalization.

At that moment, Peggy clutched her forehead and whimpered, "I don't feel well…"

Bryan hesitated.

Then he said, "Give her some medicine first. I'll come back to pay later."

And with that, he swept her up in his arms and walked away.

I stayed seated on the bed, unmoving.

I hadn't expected anything. And when you expect nothing, nothing can hurt you.

…

I called my best friend to the hospital.

She paid the hospital fees, bought me porridge, and sat by my bedside, chatting about anything and everything to keep me company.

Three, maybe four hours passed before Bryan finally texted me.

[Can't make it. Ordered you food.]

It was beef porridge. With cilantro.

I hated cilantro.

Without even looking at it, I tossed the container straight into the trash.

My friend hesitated. "Did you two fight?"

Once, I would have forced myself to eat it anyway. I would have been grateful—treasured every careless scrap of attention he threw my way.

A couple sat in the hospital bed across from me. The girl was hooked up to an IV while the boy fussed over her, running errands, making sure she was comfortable.

That look on his face—that was what love looked like.

But in all my years with Bryan, I had never once seen him look at me like that.

I let out a soft laugh. "No, we didn't fight. I just… suddenly don't love him anymore."

I glanced at my friend. "Know any good divorce lawyers?"

The words had barely left my lips when Bryan's cold, furious voice came from the doorway.

"Say that again."