Chapter 2 Less Than a Dream

The next morning, I woke up in pain.

The grief and shock had triggered a severe stomach spasm. I curled into myself on the bed, shaking as cold sweat soaked through my pajamas.

I struggled to reach for the phone on my nightstand, but I did not even have the strength to lift my hand.

Just as my vision began to blur, the bedroom door opened.

Eric entered with breakfast. When he saw me, his face changed, and he rushed to my side. "Aimee! What's wrong?"

He called the family doctor immediately.

After a long stretch of chaos, the pain finally eased. I lay weakly in bed with an IV in my arm while Eric sat beside me, dipping a cotton swab in water to moisten my cracked lips.

His eyes were full of worry and guilt.

"This is my fault," he murmured. "I should have noticed sooner that you weren't feeling well."

Looking at his concern, I found it deeply ironic. 'If it isn't for you, Eric, how could I end up like this?'

Then his phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID, and the heaviness on his face softened almost instantly. He stood and walked to the balcony to take the call.

Even through the glass door, Isabelle's sweet, fragile voice came through clearly. "Eric, I had a nightmare last night. My chest feels so tight now. Can you come stay with me for a while?"

I watched Eric's body tense immediately. His voice was filled with obvious concern as he asked, "You had a nightmare? Are you feeling pain anywhere? Wait for me. I'll come over right now."

After hanging up, he came back into the room and picked up the suit jacket draped over the chair.

As he put it on, he spoke without really looking at me. "Aimee, something came up at the office. I need to go handle it."

Then he added, "Rest well. Call me if you need anything."

I looked at him.

My hand tightened around the sheet, and the IV needle shifted under my skin. A thin line of blood crept back into the tube, and sharp pain spread from the puncture point.

"I…" My voice came out terribly hoarse, but Eric had already reached the door.

He did not stop.

He only glanced back and gave me a distracted, gentle warning. "Be good. Listen to the doctor."

Then the door closed.

The room fell silent again, with only the slow drip of fluid from the IV bag filling the air.

Isabelle only had a nightmare, and Eric treated it like an emergency. He rushed to her side without hesitation.

However, as his fiancee who had just "lost" both parents and was bedridden from illness, I was not even as significant as one of her dreams.

That afternoon, I pulled out the IV needle, changed my clothes, and prepared to go to my small art restoration studio.

Some old paintings were waiting for me there.

They were the only things that could help me forget the pain, even for a little while.

Yet just as I walked downstairs, I saw a pink sports car parked outside.

Isabelle stepped out, followed by several wealthy young women from her circle.

When she saw me, her face filled with surprise and concern. "Aimee," she called gently, "why do you look so pale?"

Then she smiled. "Eric told me you were sick, so I came to check on you."

A short-haired woman standing behind her let out a mocking laugh. "Isabelle, you're too kind. Why bother visiting an orphan who cursed her own parents to death?"

Another woman immediately chimed in, "Exactly. If she hadn't been clinging to Mr. Terrell so shamelessly, he would have been with you a long time ago."

Her eyes swept over me with disgust. "What a pathetic, shameless woman."

Their words stabbed into me like knives.

In the past, I would have endured it all for Eric's sake.

But now that I knew the truth, every word sounded like a mockery of how foolish I had been.

I clenched my fists until my nails dug deep into my palms.

"Shut up."

My voice was cold, without a trace of warmth.