Chapter 3

The year Alisha married Jason was also when her parents divorced.

By then, Mark Poole's business had already collapsed beneath a mountain of debt, but strangely enough, it wasn't the financial disaster that finally destroyed their family.

That happened when his long-term mistress was exposed, turning years of buried resentment into one final, explosive confrontation.

Alisha could still remember the night her father walked out. Susan had stood in the middle of the house, her face twisted with fury as she screamed after him.

"If you're so damn brave, then go! Run off with that woman, and don't you ever come back!"

She had meant it as a desperate threat, something she said in the heat of the moment because she wanted him to stop and stay. Instead, Mark had taken her words as permission to leave.

Back then, Alisha had been just as eerily quiet as Susan was now.

She had listened without saying a word when her mother turned to her and said, "That's what marriage really is. You'd better think long and hard about whether you still want to marry Jason."

Alisha had tuned it all out.

She had been young and hopelessly in love, so convinced that her relationship was different that she couldn't imagine suffering the same fate as her parents. In fact, she had even thrown her mother's failed marriage back in her face.

"I'm not you, Mom, and Jason isn't Dad."

Now, years later, she had ended up walking down the same path.

...

The call ended on that bitter note, leaving Alisha leaning weakly against the wall with her phone still in her hand.

She slowly covered her face, and a deep wave of self-loathing swept through her.

It wasn't Jason she hated. Nor was it Susan. It was herself.

The screaming matches, the betrayals, the endless wars were only the ugly symptoms of a marriage that had already been dying.

What had truly destroyed her was everything the marriage had done to her from the inside. Little by little, it had taught her to doubt herself, belittle herself, and eventually despise the person she saw in the mirror.

She was still wiping away her tears when the door beside her opened.

Rory stepped out, dressed in a sharply tailored suit, looking as refined and distant as ever. An unlit cigarette was loosely held between his fingers. His eyes passed over her face without revealing much emotion.

"Here for your car?" he asked.

"Yeah." Alisha quickly turned her face away, trying to hide the traces of crying. "Thanks for everything yesterday."

Rory's expression remained unreadable. "I don't remember you being this fond of saying thank you."

Alisha paused, not sure which version of the past he meant.

If he was referring to high school, then he was right. Back then, when she had been shamelessly pursuing him, subtlety had never been one of her strengths.

Whenever Rory left his seat, she would immediately abandon her own and slip into his, casually claiming that she preferred sitting by the window.

She had been remarkably thick-skinned in those days. Whenever Rory returned and silently took her seat, his expression would be stony.

She would lean toward him and whisper with a grin, "I prefer you, too."

Naturally, Rory had never rewarded her boldness with the reaction she wanted. If anything, every attempt had seemed to make him even more distant.

The girl who had once had enough confidence to chase a boy without worrying about rejection was long gone. Ten years of marriage to Jason had gradually worn away her temper, her sharpness, and even the reckless passion that had once made her fearless.

Rory's casual reference to the past left her momentarily dazed, but he clearly had no intention of reminiscing with her.

Without waiting for a response, he looked away and walked toward the far end of the parking lot, where he finally lit his cigarette.

...

Alisha got her car back and drove to the hospital.

After changing into her lab coat, she headed toward the restroom. She had barely stepped out toward the sinks when she found Katie already standing there.

The younger woman's expression flickered with hesitation before she finally gathered the courage to speak. "Mrs. Wiley, it was snowing so heavily yesterday. I hope you didn't catch a cold on your way home."

Alisha turned on the faucet and began washing her hands without even looking up. "If I had, do you think I'd be standing here right now?"

Katie's smile stiffened. "Mrs. Wiley, do you... dislike me?"

Alisha shut off the water and finally looked at her. "Why should I like you? Is there something particularly likable about you?"

Katie pressed her lips together, apparently struggling to maintain her polite expression. "You're Mr. Wiley's wife, and he is my boss. Of course, I want to earn your approval."

"Who says you don't have it?" Alisha gave a dry, humorless laugh. "I've already accepted that you're Jason's new girlfriend. If that isn't approval, what is? Or are you hoping to become his wife instead?"

"Here is some advice. If you ever become Mrs. Wiley, you might want to buy yourself a tally counter. You'll need it to keep track of how many mistresses he parades in front of you."

Katie bit her lip. "I was only trying to show some concern. You don't have to be so mean. Even if you misunderstand me, isn't it inappropriate to speak about Mr. Wiley like that?"

Her voice became increasingly aggrieved, as though she were the one being mistreated.

"He wasn't feeling well last night, and I took him to the hospital this morning. You don't care about him, and now you're mocking him on top of that. Don't you think that's a little..."

Unfazed, Alisha pulled out a paper towel and dried her hands.

"Does Jason have brain damage?"

"What? Mr. Wiley drank too much and has a bleeding stomach ulcer."

"Then do you have brain damage?"

"Hey, you're a doctor! How can you talk to people like that? Where are your manners?"

Alisha didn't bother answering.

She simply tossed the paper towel into the trash and walked out of the restroom. Once she reached the hallway, she slipped her left hand into her coat pocket, then raised her right hand and pointed toward the department sign hanging on the wall.

"Jason has gastric bleeding, yet instead of staying downstairs in Gastroenterology, you showed up here in Neurosurgery," she said with cold detachment.

"Unless you came here to have your head checked, would you mind explaining why you're here? Or was the women's restroom downstairs out of order?"

Katie clenched her fists, unable to come up with a response.

There was something infuriating about the woman standing in front of her. Even without makeup and with no expression on her face, Alisha possessed a breathtaking beauty that was difficult to ignore. Her eyes were clear and deep, carrying a crystalline intensity that seemed almost effortless.

Katie had heard the rumors around the office.

People said Jason had noticed her because she bore a subtle resemblance to what his wife had looked like when she was younger.

Katie had never cared about that. She was much gentler and understood Jason in ways Alisha supposedly never had. And most importantly, she was only 22.

No man could resist a younger woman forever. The thought brought her confidence back, and she lifted her chin.

"Mrs. Wiley, a feisty young girl is like a wild rose—bright, vibrant, and full of life. But an older woman who's become bitter and covered in sharp thorns is nothing more than a washed-up hag who makes everyone uncomfortable."

Her smile sharpened. "I'm sure you understand that better than anyone."

Alisha slowly raised her eyes, her gaze chilly. Her crisp white coat strengthened her aura further, causing Katie to step back in fear.

"What's the rush to label a 28-year-old woman?" Alisha scoffed. "Did your mother not live to see 28? Or are you planning to drop dead the moment you reach that age?"

Katie's eyes widened. Her face flushed crimson with anger.

"You are..."

"Save it," Alisha cut her off. "If you need a neurological examination, go downstairs and register at the front desk. And as for a filthy, toxic man like Jason, if you want him, take him. I'm not interested in competing with you over garbage."

Katie's lips parted, but she forced herself to swallow the retort. Then her gaze suddenly shifted past Alisha's shoulder.

Whatever anger had been burning in her eyes vanished almost instantly. In its place came a look of fragile hurt, as though she had just been cruelly wronged and was struggling to hold herself together.

Alisha noticed the shift and turned around.

There was Jason, leaning casually against the wall a short distance away. He wore a designer shirt and tailored slacks, the top button of his shirt left undone.

His complexion was unusually pale, giving him a somewhat weakened, almost vulnerable appearance after his stomach bleeding. But there was nothing vulnerable about his eyes.

His dark, heavy gaze was fixed directly on Alisha.