Chapter 3

Faith, who had always given Bridger whatever he asked for, hesitated. "He's my servant, after all. I can't exactly let something happen to him."

She held me tightly and quickened her pace.

For a moment, it felt as though we'd gone back ten years.

Back then, we'd just graduated from college and were living in a basement apartment in the suburbs. To give Faith a better life, I'd work myself to the bone at a second job even after finishing my regular shift.

The exhaustion, combined with the damp cold of the basement, caused me to come down with a severe fever one winter. I was so sick that I was barely conscious.

Snow covered the road up to my knees, and we couldn't get a cab.

So Faith supported me like this and ran with me all the way from the suburbs to a hospital seven kilometers away without stopping once.

She was exhausted to the point of collapse, her clothes soaked through with melted snow and sweat, yet she still forced herself to buy me roasted chestnuts and stayed beside me, crying and watching over me.

"August, please say something. Don't scare me..." She cried in fear, looking as though she couldn't survive without me.

And yet, I still left her later.

When she threw everything aside to find me, she discovered that I'd gotten together with a wealthy businesswoman. So maybe she'd hated me this much because she'd once loved me too much.

She'd tormented me for seven years and still wasn't satisfied.

"You're so afraid I'll die. Do you want to torment me for the rest of my life?" I smiled, both relieved and bitter. "But you won't get your wish. Faith, I have a terminal illness. I have only three months left."

The moment I finished speaking, Faith stopped dead.

"Terminal illness?" she whispered the words hoarsely, then shoved me hard, sending me crashing to the ground.

The panic and concern in her eyes vanished completely, leaving behind nothing but coldness.

With the look of someone who had seen right through me, she let out a bitter laugh. "How could you suddenly have a terminal illness when everything was fine? Is this some new trick you've come up with after keeping it up for seven years?

"You realized that pretending to be obedient and caring about me wasn't working, so you decided to settle the accounts between us, make me worry about you, and then pull out this terminal-illness story to trick me into spending money on you?

"What a shame, August! The truth is, I'd already started softening toward you. If you'd just endured it a little longer, you might have gotten what you wanted. But you were too impatient!"

Her laughter grew louder and more unrestrained. She stared down at me, expecting to see frustration and regret on my face.

But she saw none of it. There was only the detached calm that comes after a heart has completely died.

"Hmph. Let's see how long you can keep pretending." She strode past me and forced a smile as she reached for Bridger's hand. "Didn't you say we were going to dinner? What are you waiting for? Get in the car."

Watching the two of them acting so intimate, I didn't even have the strength left to feel hurt.

My whole body felt as though it had been shattered. I barely managed to crawl to the back seat, gritting my teeth against the pain.

When I opened the door to get in, Faith shoved me away. "What are you doing? Didn't you hear me? I'm going with Bridger. Take a cab to the hospital yourself!"

I stood there, stunned, watching through endless pain and despair as Faith gently took Bridger's hand and got into the car, leaving me behind.

A gust of autumn wind swept past. The bone-deep chill triggered another attack of my illness, every inch of my body filled with tearing pain.

I gritted my teeth against it and waved at the disappearing car.

"Goodbye, Faith. Goodbye forever."

I didn't go to the hospital. After taking some painkillers, I went home to pack my things.

In that enormous mansion, the only thing that belonged to me was a small suitcase. Every piece of clothing inside had been bought when I first arrived. I hadn't added a single new item in seven years. They had all faded to white, just like the sickly pallor of my face.

It was almost laughable.

There were ten servants in that mansion.

Yet I, the husband, was the only one who never got a moment's rest, working until I was nothing but skin and bones.